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J^ean and J^ank 


BY 

Zelma H. Tankersley 

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NINETEEN HUNDRED 
AND TWENTY-NINE 







PZs 

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Copyright, 1929 
Zelma H. Tankersley 


©CIA 15784 


OCT 28 1929 


DEDICATION 


Dedicated to all Leans and 
Lanks the world over whom 
the author loves, admires and 
wishes the highest, fullest, rich¬ 
est life that this world can 
know. Such can be theirs for: 
“If any man lack wisdom let 
him ask God." “Before they 
call I will answer, and while 
they are yet speaking I will 
hear.” 









PREFACE 


This book is written in the 
best and highest commendatory 
praise of the many now ac¬ 
tive Judge Farrises and Daniel 
Fosters. So; and in hopes of 
reaching the many more,—and 
the peace that passes all under¬ 
standing, the peace that the 
world cannot know will be 
theirs. 

Z. H. T. 

Prattville, Alabama, 

October, 1929. 
















Lean and Lank 


i 

“Shine your shoes, please, Mister? Good job,—quick 
work. Thank you, sir. Morning paper! You’ll have 
time to read the big head lines while I make them look 
like new.” And the pale, sweet face, pinched by poverty 
and hunger, looked so appealing, so demanding of sym¬ 
pathy, the man of affairs sat upon the shabby chair, 
placed his feet upon the crude rack and took the morning 
paper proffered by the boy. 

“Thank you sonny,” as he took the paper, “give me an 
extra good shine now and I will give you extra good pay.” 

“All right, sir,” and an appreciative grin wreathed the 
face as he gave a side-ways glance at his customer from 
brown eyes made abnormally large by the pale, drawn, 
wax-like skin, then began his work with business-like 
energy. 

There was an indescribable something; an attractively 
alluring, a pathetically fascinating look upon the little 
boot-black’s face which caused passers-by to “take no¬ 
tice,” if they did not actually stop, take the chair, put 
their feet upon the rack and take the paper as it was 
gently but securely placed within the hand. 

As the gentleman of affairs left the chair, he carefully 
folded the paper while he was being dusted and brushed, 
then, thrusting his hand in his pocket, he brought out a 
bright new fifty cent piece, handed it to the boy saying: 
“This money is new and you’ve made my shoes ‘look like 
new,’ so we are even, aren’t we?” 

“But, sir, I haven’t the change.” 

“There is no change. You gave the extra good job 


4 


Lean and Lank 


and you get the extra good pay according to our con¬ 
tract.” 

As he handed the paper to the youngster, the man 
noted the shapely, but claw like hands as the little fel¬ 
low took it, and passed his bony fingers heavily over it 
to emphasize the creases so it would “lay flat,” then laid 
it upon the special place he had fixed for it (two pegs 
driven into the side of the chair seat) the paper to be 
used as many times that day as there were customers. 
The man also noted the grateful, appreciative curl of his 
mouth and side glance from the alluring eyes as the boy 
looked gratefully at him—then lovingly at the coin. 

The man passed on. He had become interested.—“That 
little chap has something peculiarly attractive about him, 
—can’t define it,” he mused as he passed on. When he 
reached the corner he turned as if to go down the street, 
but instead he entered the haberdashery and walked to 
the side door where he could look out upon the boy. 

He was just in time to see a tobacco sack taken from 
the pocket of the boy, the draw-string pulled to its full 
capacity; he heard the coin as it dropped in with a thud 
and joined the company of two nickels and a dime already 
earned that morning. After a peep into the sack the 
string was drawn tight, the sack given a shake or two up 
and down—close to the boy’s ear—the jingle made such 
pleasant music! The eyes said so. The top of the sack 
was then twisted tightly to make the money more secure 
and giving the bag a toss up, it was caught, given a pow¬ 
erful squeeze, a delighted smile, then crammed into the 
lowest corner of his pocket. He gave the pocket an af¬ 
fectionate, satisfied pat when the hand was withdrawn. 

A graceful swing of the body carried him to the chair 
where, with his bare legs crossed, he whistled to himself 
and waited patiently for another customer. 

The man of affairs walked slowly away, thoughtful. 
His interest and sympathies were aroused by the earnest, 
business-like, polite demeanor of the boy and several 
times a week thereafter, he came, sat upon the chair and 



Lean and Lank 


5 


had his shoes “made like new,” solely to see, chat with 
and help the little fellow, who never slackened in his ef¬ 
forts to please—to do the best job possible—and was so 
wholesomely pleasant about it. 

A fellow of like trade had installed his place of busi¬ 
ness on the next block down and frequently they would 
signal their business successes during the day by a pri¬ 
vate code know only to themselves. They would stand 
with legs at an angle almost forty-five degrees, arms 
raised and energetically waved in wind-mill fashion sev¬ 
eral revolutions—then they would hold up their arms 
alternately with fingers well apart so that each could 
know the dimes made within a given period of time. The 
one showing the fewest fingers, would double his energies 
so the profits would nearer tally the evening when upon 
reaching home their earnings for the day would be 
poured from the tobacco sacks upon either end of the 
pine table, carefully counted and deposited in savings 
banks—(baking-powder cans with a slit cut in the tops, 
a piece of paper having been pasted with flour around the 
edge of the lids so the temptation to use money from their 
savings account would be lessened). The “banks” were 
then placed in the wooden box which held their supply of 
wearing apparel and pushed under the head of their bed. 

The companion of like trade was taller by a head, was 
angular both as to form and feature. The high cheek 
bones seemed to have a way of hiding the dark, greenish, 
grey eyes, already somewhat obscured by a tangled mass 
of hair—a tawny mane always awry by the constant pas¬ 
sage of long, dirty fingers through it, as he restlessly 
paced up and down, round and round while he waited 
for customers. 

The two were as unlike in disposition as they were in 
general appearance. They had only two characteristics 
alike,—honesty to all, loyalty to each other. Their first 
introduction was quite a thrilling affair, came near being 
serious. 



6 


Lean and Lank 


“Lean,” (as the smaller, younger fellow was called), 
was being unmercifully and unjustly thrashed by a bully 
of the streets, when “Lank” happened along. After a 
hurried conversation with one of the on-lookers, “Lank” 
immediately put aside his cap and coat and proceeded to 
have the tide of battle changed in “Lean's” favor. This 
intervention gave “Lean” undisputed victory. Picking 
up several marbles, a sling shot, two nails, a tap and sev¬ 
eral buttons and beads, he handed them to “Lean”; then 
turned and collected his own property from a boy here 
and there who had picked up the articles as they had 
fallen from time to time from the champion’s pockets as 
the battle raged. The affair was over in a few minutes 
—before a cop was made wise—and the two marched off 
together. The taller one walked wobbly as he leaned 
down—his swaying, swinging stride gave the appearance 
of wrapping his legs around the smaller boy’s (as it 
were). He put an arm across the small boy’s shoulder 
and began questioning him as to the extent of his in¬ 
juries; asked him concerning his home, his social stand¬ 
ing, church affiliations, etc. 

As they thus walked away leaving the crowd gazing 
admiringly after them, the gang called out good natured- 
ly: “Goodbye Lank; goodbye Lean.” Names promptly 
accepted by both boys, as well as the crowd, as being en¬ 
tirely appropriate and satisfactory. 

This introduction, though all unexpected and violent, 
was lasting and exceedingly peaceful. 


CHAPTER II 

“Myer, what is the chap’s name who has that dilapi¬ 
dated ‘shoe shine’ just to the side of your place?” 

“I do not know, Judge, everybody calls him ‘Lean.’ 
Quite an unusual, interesting looking little fellow, isn’t 
he?” 

“Yes—. Unless his every shirt is exactly alike he 




Lean and Lank 


7 


wears the same one all the time, for they are identical, 
patches and all. Yet they are always clean, white and, 
though unstarched, are nicely pressed. I do not under¬ 
stand it. The jean trousers, too. The whole outfit looks 
and fits pretty well, somewhat distinguished looking, I’d 
say—certainly distinguishes him from those of his kind. 
His flesh is exceptionally fresh and clean for one in his 
position. The hungry, starved look he almost always 
wears annoys me,—haunts me at times.” 

“He seems to be somewhat choice about his eating, he 
won’t eat hot-dogs and trash like that, as most of that 
class and clan do; I learned this by some of his crowd 
ragging him about it. He seems very fond of all fruits, 
especially apples and often I have an extra one for him. 
I had lunch sent over from a stand one day last week just 
to try him. I asked him to share it with me, but with 
his pleasant grin (grin is not the right word, it is a 
peculiar curve or an expression about his eyes, or mouth 
or both which makes his face very appealing)—he de¬ 
clined, saying he had eaten an apple and couldn’t enjoy 
anything else then; but he did drink a glass of the milk 
which he thought was in danger of being sent back,—and 
do you know he sipped that stuff as slowly and as man¬ 
nerly as if he had been always used to drinking in one of 
the fourhundred’s drawing rooms. 

“But why the question, Judge, does he strike you too?” 

“Yes, I have been patronizing him all summer or since 
he has had his chair by your place. The chair, though 
comfortable looks like a home-made affair. I find some¬ 
thing quite unusual about him — about the whole en¬ 
semble—he doesn’t seem to be of the class of ordinary 
street rats.” 

“No, he doesn’t. The only connection between him and 
the others is: his constant association with an ungainly, 
almost wild looking chap he buddies with, whom he calls 
‘Lank.’ They can’t be related for there is so absolutely 
nothing in common between them, yet a deep abiding, un¬ 
derstanding exists. They afford me quite a lot of amuse- 



8 


Lean and Lank 


ment at odd times when I happen to see them exchanging 
motions and jestures of every conceivable kind—entirely 
out of my ken, but seemingly entirely understandable to 
them. ,, 

'‘These gauntlets are all right, Meyer, now get me a 
dozen of those collars I like, those with the rounded 
corners, you know,—No. 15}4.” 

“Yes, yes,;—here you are.” 

“Thanks. Goodbye, Meyer.” 

“Good day, Judge. Thanks to you. Call again.” 

“Shoes shined, sir?” 

“Yes, Lean. Instead of reading the paper, as I have 
already seen one, I am going to talk with you while you 
give me the shine. How about it?” 

“All right, sir, go ahead,” agreed Lean well pleased. 

“First, I want to know your name so I can feel close 
enough—intimate enough, you know, to ask some ques¬ 
tions. I am Judge Alston Farris and live on Riverside 
Drive, about a mile out.” 

“Yes, Judge, I know you,, I know where you live. My 
name is Daniel Foster. I stay about a mile below you 
further out . . ” 

“On Duncan Row?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“How did you know my name and where I live, 
Daniel?” 

“Lank, a friend of mine told me. He used to carry 
papers and knows that part of the town like a book. I 
didn’t forget your home, for I think it is the prettiest 
place in the city and you have the prettiest little girl and 
dog I ever saw.” 

“I have no little girl, Daniel. I have only two chil¬ 
dren, two boys; they are grown; one is married, the 
other is way off somewhere prospecting. Both live away 
from here. The little girl you saw there is my neigh¬ 
bor’s. She is pretty—she is beautiful and just as sweet, 
cute and bright as she is beautiful. My wife and I are 



Lean and Lank 


9 


very fond of her, and she of us. She used to have a 
pretty Shetland pony—she called him Peek-a-boo and 
would bring him over often to graze on our lawn. 

“Fve never seen the pony.” 

“No, lightning struck and killed him during an electric 
storm one day; then I gave her the dog. He is a Great 
Dane, she calls him 'Judge’ honoring me.” The pleas¬ 
ant curve of the boy’s mouth, matched the pleasant 
chuckle of the man. 

“Her curls look like shavings I’ve seen from old fur¬ 
niture, only they are lighter and shinier. I have won¬ 
dered why she wore curls when most all other little girls 
have short hair.” 

A short silence followed during which the Judge was 
thinking, but not about the little girl’s curls. 

“Daniel, do you live with your parents?” 

“I have no parents, sir. No kin folk that I know of. 
I stay with Lank and Mrs. Bishop, his mother. She is 
a widow and Lank helps support her. I board with 
them.” 

“How old are you, Daniel?” 

“Nearly eleven.” 

“Do you go to school?” 

“Only at night. Lank and I go to the night school for 
boys out Riply way.” 

“What grade are you in?” 

“They don’t have grades there. We are taught to read,, 
write and spell; then we take up grammar, history, 
geography and other things.” 

“What are you studying now?” 

“I am in the fifth reader, speller, grammar, history, 
geography and arithmetic.” 

“How much board do you pay?” 

“Two dollars a week.” 

“Is Mrs. Bishop good to you and Lank?” 

“0, yes, sir, as good as she can be—but ...” 

“But what—Daniel? Don’t be afraid or ashamed to 



10 


Lean and Lank 


tell me. I like you and I only wanted to know so that 
I could 

“Yes, sir,, I know, but ...” 

“Daniel, how would you like to be my little boy so you 
could go to school every day? You like school, don’t 
you?” 

“0, yes, sir, I like school and I like you too, but I could 
not do that.” 

“Why, Daniel? I would be good to you. I think I 
know how to treat little boys as I have reared two of my 
own; they are fine boys, men now. I have a good cook 
and you need some good food to make you a big, strong, 
fine man,—nourishing to help develop these muscles. 

While he was playfully feeling Lean’s muscles he was 
eyeing him generally and thinking—Lean was eyeing him 
and thinking too. 

“How about it, Daniel?” 

Lean felt he was on the verge of breaking his record of, 
—never shedding a tear—but instead of crying he looked 
harder upon the ground and kept flipping his big toe up 
and down on the pavement and pushing his hands almost 
through his pockets. 

“How about it, Daniel?” repeated the Judge. 

“I thank you, sir, but . . ” 

“But what?” 

“I am afraid you wouldn’t want me if you knew how 
I lived ’till I went to Lank’s—and—and besides I can’t 
leave Lank.” 

“Have you saved up any money?” 

“I have a little, most enough for a pair of pants and 
shoes. Lank has a coat that’s too little for him. I am 
going to take that and go 50-50 with him in buying him 
a new one.” 

“I see,” said the Judge much pleased as well as 
amused. “Do you two smoke?” 

“Lank used to, but he’s quit?” 

“Why did he quit?” 



Lean and Lank 


11 


“We decided that we’d take that money to buy our 
pencils, tablets, and a book to read occasionally.” 

“You use the money he saves that way—to buy your 
own books? 

“0, no sir, I match his—if he saves a dime, I match it 
with a dime.” 

“0, I see. And you won’t leave Lank for me? You 
like him better than you do me?” 

“0, no sir. Yes, sir—I—I, you see I knew him first 
and ...” 

“And what else?” 

“He’s helped me out lots.” 

“Could I come to see you sometimes; say next Friday 
night—or will you be in school?” 

“We don’t go to school until eight.” 

“Well, let’s say six o’clock; will that suit?” 

“I will ask Lank and Mrs. Bishop.” 

“All right. This is Tuesday, is it not? I’ll come by to 
see you Thursday and see what they say.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

“I’ll have to double up on fees today for I have kept 
you from several shines I know, so here’s a dollar which 
will square things, won’t it?” 

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, Judge, I thank you, but I do not 
want pay for work I have not done.” 

“Certainly I know that, but I took your time—the time 
you would have been at work for others, see? Time is 
money, and it’s but fair that I should pay for what I 
have used of yours.” 

“But I couldn’t have made that much, for you haven’t 
been here thirty minutes,”—as he glanced at the huge 
clock inside the haberdasher’s door, “and besides you’ve 
been so kind to always overpay me ... ” 

“Not if you get paid for the extra good shines and the 
newspapers you always have for your customers to read. 
Goodbye, Daniel. I will see you Thursday.” 

“Goodbye, Judge, I thank you,” and the fascinating 



12 


Lean and Lank 


curl again came around his mouth and a smile over¬ 
spread his face making old the pinched features. 

The Judge walked away musing to himself—“there’s 
the making of a diplomat, a general, or financier in that 
boy—sure as life.” 


CHAPTER III 

“Mary, I know the brightest, most exclusive looking 
little fellow. I want you to see him, he’s a darling (as 
you would say). You would like him. I asked him how 
he would like to live with us and be our boy. He thanked 
me very kindly, and said he preferred Lank, his street 
partner.” 

“Street partner! What do you mean then by saying 
he is exclusive? Who is he? What is he?” 

“He’s a bootblack. Has a chair, a home-made affair, 
on the street next Meyer’s corner. He is very striking 
looking,—he is intelligent, interesting, straight, and 
honest. I would like to have him make his home with 
us if you and he would consent.” 

“But, Al„ we don’t want a street urchin. Do you know 
who and what he is?” 

“No, I know nothing of his parentage. In fact, I 
know nothing about him specially—except my common 
sense and reason tell me he is all right; and I do know 
he is a very striking looking little fellow,—I say this 
advisedly. 

“He is undernourished either from lack of food or from 
improper feeding—both I suspect. He seems to disdain 
common food—common is not the right word; coarse 
would be better, for he does like common food the plain 
meat and bread variety, but he does not like the ‘hot- 
dog’ kind. Do not pass judgment until you see and talk 
with him. I want you to see him in his everyday en¬ 
vironment. I want you to talk with him, notice what 
good language he uses, and how his face brightens and 
expresses so well his every mood. I am going to see him 




Lean and Lank 


13 


at his lodging place one day before long—to be exact, 
Friday, if his landlady approves. I want you to go with 
me there, too, sometimes. ,, 

“Al, I love little boys, you know that, but we must be 
very careful now whom we take into our home. When 
the grandbaby comes home, he must have good associates. 
Little Al is a genuine boy, you know, and needs as good, 
surely no worse associates than he is.” 

“True, Mary, no one appreciates that fact more than 
I, I judge. But I reiterate,—reserve your verdict until 
you see, hear, and talk with and know this little fellow.” 


CHAPTER IV 

“Good morning, Daniel, how goes it?” 

“All right, Judge Farris, how are you, sir?” 

“Fine, fine. I’ve seen the paper—thank you. How 
about our date for Friday night?” 

“Mrs. Bishop won't be at home, sir, she sews out Mon¬ 
day, Wednesday and Friday nights until ten; but Lank 
and I will be there and will be glad to have you. She 
has to sew out some nights, you know,, to help Lank out. 
She gets back about the same time Lank and I get home 
from school.” 

“That is all right about Mrs. Bishop, Daniel, I can 
see her some other time. I will see you and Lank Fri¬ 
day evening not later than 6:30; that will give us an 
hour's visit and will get you to school by eight. 

“All right. Lank and I will be looking for you.” 

Friday evening at six, Lean and Lank were ready for 
their visitor; — however, at the last minute Lank dis¬ 
covered they had no matches and rushed to get them. 

“Come in, Judge, Lank has gone to the store at the 
corner for some matches, he did not know they were out 
until he went to lay the fire for his 'mar' to fix break¬ 
fast in the morning, he’ll be back in less than five min¬ 
utes.” 




14 


Lean and Lank 


“That’s all right, Daniel, where shall I put my hat and 
cane?” 

“Right here, Judge, excuse me I wasn’t thinking. I 
will take them. Have this chair, it will be more com¬ 
fortable for a large man like you—the one you have will 
best suit me.” 

“I believe it will. This one is better for me, thank 
you.” Turning as Lank came in the door he offered his 
hand saying: “This is Lank, I believe,, how are you?” 

“Splendid, thank you, how are you, Judge Farris? I’ve 
heard Lean talk of you so much I feel like I know you.” 

“So you’ve been talking about me, Daniel?” 

“Daniel! Is your name Daniel ?” 

“Sure, didn’t you know that, Lank?” 

“Sure I did not. Bet you can’t guess my name. I 
never once thought about you not knowing my name be¬ 
fore. Mar calls me 'son’ or 'my man’ all the time, so 
how could you know ?” 

“Robert. I saw it in one of your old books.” 

“Yes, Robert Russell Bishop for Grandpa Russell who 
is dead and for Uncle Rob who lives in California.” 

All this information was given and received without 
the slightest attention being given their guest. The Judge 
sat as a judge; arms lain out straight upon the arms of 
the chair, feet flat upon the floor, knees together, head 
erect. 'How innocent, how entirely free from curiosities 
some natures are. Think of these two boys, living un¬ 
der the same roof for years and not even curious as to 
the names of each, simply taking each other for their 
real values regardless of labels,’ thought the Judge. 

As the boys turned to address him, he crossed his arms 
and legs, and sat well back in his chair. 

“Yes, Judge, Lean does talk about you lots. He thinks 
you are IT.” 

“I have a right to talk about you, Judge,” stammered 
Lean, blushing violently, “haven’t I? I love to talk 
about my friends, those whom I like,—don’t you?” 

“Yes, I do, Daniel, and I am glad you consider me your 




Lean and Lank 


15 


friend. That brings us to a nice starting point. How 
long have you been with Lank and his mother ?’’ 

“Nearly three years,—isn't it Lank?" Lank nodded in 
thoughtful affirmation. 

“Where did you live before coming here?" 

Lean blushed scarlet, hung his head, but the fascinat¬ 
ing curl played around his mouth. Finally he said, as 
he threw himself in a heap upon the floor in front of the 
Judge and near Lank’s chair upon which he rested an 
elbow, laid his face against his hand and looked straight 
into the man’s face. 

“To be fair with you, Judge, I don’t know just who or 
what I am or where I came from—it’s this way." Again 
scarlet suffused his face and neck, but the pleasant quivers 
around his mouth prevailed and he looked up straight 
into the face of his questioner. “When I was about three 
and one-half years old I was taken to an orphan’s home 
where I stayed until I was about seven; then I ran 
away." The head dropped. Not a word for some mo¬ 
ments. Again looking at his interrogator the amused 
grin playing about his mouth, he continued: 

“I didn’t like to be treated like a sick baby, so I left. 
I thought it all out the night before and had gotten 
all my clothes together. I put a potato and all the bread 
I had left from dinner in my blouse. I didn’t have any¬ 
thing but two suits—one I had on, the other I wrapped 
up in the jacket, tied it with the sleeves and left. It was 
early in the afternoon. I went in the opposite direction 
from the town to which we were sometimes taken, for 
fear I would be found and brought back. 

“That first night I was very scared, but I had walked 
all the afternoon and was so hungry and so tired I 
couldn’t go any farther. I shall never forget how I felt 
when it grew dark and I had nowhere to go, not a place 
to sleep. I finally crawled under a lady’s front door 
steps. I had seen her come out and close the front door 
and lock it. I got a good look at her face. She looked 
kind and I knew she wouldn’t hurt me or let any one else 



16 


Lean and Lank 


hurt me if she found me under her steps, after I told 
her why I was there. It was very warm weather, the 
sand was soft; I used my bundle for a pillow and being 
so tired I slept well all night long. The next morning I 
left before she was up. For my breakfast I ate the last 
piece of bread I had brought. 

“I didn't think any one had seen me, but as I was slowly 
walking up the street and had just about finished my 
bread, the roughest looking, biggest man I had ever seen 
grabbed me by my shoulders from behind, shook me hard 
and said: ‘What yer doin' sneakin' from out er Mrs. 
Dawes' yard this time of the mornin',, yer little devil? 
What yer got in that bundle—? Don’t say a word. Yer 
needn’t try to fool me nor deny it. I saw yer through 
my winder as I was gettin’ up, and I watched yer as I 
dressed—what yer been up to? A little sneak thief I 
bet my last dollar. Come with me, I'll turn yer over to 
Jackson, the night watchman—he’ll fix yer.' 

“At first I was scarced, he looked so big and strong, but 
when he said night policeman I knew I had nothing that 
would make a policeman think I had been up to any¬ 
thing wrong, so I got alright again. 

“When we got to the place where the night watchman 
was supposed to be, he had just left on the street car for 
his home and the cop that was to take his place hadn’t 
come, so the fellow said: ‘Open that bag.' I untied the 
blouse sleeves, he looked at everything, searched my 
pockets, tore the lining partly out of my cap enough to 
get his big hand through and said: “Well, I don’t see 
nothin' yer got this time, but yer beat it, skin out from 
here quick for if I catch yer on this street or in this 
neighborhood again I'll make it hot for yer.' 

“I wasn’t exactly afraid, but I didn't want to make 
trouble so I left that neighborhood. 

“I knew I had to make some money some way and got 
mad with myself because I thought that everyone would 
know I had run away from some one because I was too 
young, too little to work. I went on, though, making out 




Lean and Lank 


17 


like I lived around somewhere in the neighborhood. One 
block I came to, a lady came running out of a house, 
looked up and down the street. When she saw me, 
she said: ‘Little boy, I’ll give you twenty-five cents if 
you will run to the corner store there and tell Mr. Burk 
to call the doctor for Mrs. Wilson,—my phone won’t 
work.’ She put the quarter in my hand and I ran as 
hard as I could saying, Mr. Burk, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Wil¬ 
son, Mr. Burk every jump for fear I would forget the 
names or get them all mixed up. I will never forget 
those names. When I told Mr. Burk and he had ’phoned 
the doctor, I asked him the price of his apples. I bought 
a dime’s worth (they were five cents a piece, three for a 
dime), a nickel’s worth of cheese and crackers and asked 
for a drink of water. He looked at me sorter funny and 
said: ‘Buddy, whose boy are you, I don’t remember 

having seen you around here before?’ 

“No, sir, I just happened to be passing the lady’s house 
when she called me and asked if I would ask you to call 
the doctor for her,, as her ’phone was out of order. 

“I was going out the door when he asked again: 
‘Whose boy did you say you are?’ ‘Mr. Foster’s’ 
I called back and went on. He seemed satisfied and I 
was, for I had my dinner and supper for that day and 
breakfast for the next morning bought and paid for and 
had a dime left. 

“The town was much larger than I had expected but I 
could not get one thing to do. I ate part of the cheese 
and crackers and one apple for dinner, an apple for sup¬ 
per, keeping the rest for the morning. That night I 
slept in a wagon body by an old shed. 

“The next day a lady—a right nice looking lady—asked 
me if I was not in too big a hurry would I mind stay¬ 
ing and playing right there in her front yard with her 
little baby boy until she could run down town on some 
important business. She said she wouldn’t be gone more 
than an hour, her nurse was sick, she had to go and had 
no one else she could leave the baby with. I said: ‘Yes, 



18 


Lean and Lank 


ma’am, I’ll stay with him.’ ‘Will your mother care?’ 
I said: ‘No, ma’am.’ When she came back—(it didn’t 
seem like she had been gone any time) the baby cried so 
hard when I left she called me back and said she would 
give me thirty cents if I would stay with the baby all 
that day. I stayed. 

“That night I decided I would have to go back to the 
wagon and old shed. I had started when she said: 
‘Little man, where do you live? Don’t you want me to 
take you home or call your mother to come get you?’ 
Then I had to say: ‘I have no home, my papa and mamma 
are dead. I just stay about and about.’ I was so afraid 
she was going to ask me whom I was staying with then, 
—but she didn’t. She seemed to be tired or worried. 
She seemed to be thinking, she looked at me a few min¬ 
utes then said: ‘You played with Bobby so nicely and 
he seems to like you so much. How about staying with 
me until the nurse gets better? I will give you a place 
to sleep, something to eat and thirty cents a day if you 
will stay and play nice and sweet with Bobby like you 
did today—; keep him off the street and sidewalk, and 
take good care of him.’ Of course I said all right. I’d 
do it. I stayed there nearly two weeks before the nurse 
returned. 

“By that time I had enough money saved up to buy a big 
old chair I had seen in an old furniture junk shop. 
(That’s where I saw the pretty shavings that looked like 
the curls of your little friend.) I had it fixed up for a 
shoe shine, bought the other stuff I needed, had a man to 
haul it through the town and to this side, because I knew 
the south side would be warmer in winter, then I went 
to work. About a week after that I met Lank.” 

Here he paused while he changed his position. He 
stood up and shook himself as if glad to be freed entirely 
from the burden of secrecy he had been carrying so long. 
He then laid his hand upon Lank’s shoulder, looked into 
his face—which was a study of interest and enlighten¬ 
ment. It was the very first time Lank had heard of 



Lean and Lank 


19 


Lean’s hardships and he was fully sympathizing with 
every event. 

“You tell the rest, Lank,” he said, and with the assur¬ 
ance of being obeyed he walked slowly toward the 
window and sat down in ear-shot while Lank’s and the 
Judge’s eyes followed him. The Judge then turned to¬ 
ward Lank who continued the narrative as if no pause 
had been made. 

“A big bully was abeating Lean,—he’d er made two er 
Lean. I asked a boy what the trouble was and found 
out it was the bully’s fault, so I pitched in and helped 
Lean out. His nose was bleedin’ and one eye was badly 
hurt—I thought at first that it was out—so I took him 
home for Mar to fix up. Do you know he hadn’t cried 
one bit!—the bully said that he would beat him until he 
did cry. He was so scratched and bunged up, Mar told 
him he had better stay with us until he got better. We 
liked him and as he didn’t have any other home I asked 
Mar to let him stay with me. She didn’t care, so he’s 
been with us ever since. He and I got to working to¬ 
gether and going to night school. We have learned lots, 
but Lean’s way ahead er me. We are in the same classes; 
but I am two years older than him and he always knows 
his lessons better, but he won’t let me alone until I get 
every one of mine as good as I can. It was hard at first, 
looked like to me I just couldn’t learn it, but it’s begin¬ 
ning to get easy now, just like Lean said it would when 
I got the hang er it.” 

At this point Lank, too, stood, stretched his long, lank, 
wiry body. The joints of his elbows, wrists, fingers, 
knees and ankles being entirely out of proportion to the 
long, slender bones which had been allowed to grow along 
the line of least resistance. The mother having to work 
to keep food, clothing and shelter for her and her boy was 
too weary and too tired to know or see how he was grow¬ 
ing. She saw him only a few minutes in the early morn¬ 
ing and at night when they sat down to a scant supper— 
though neatly served and well cooked—too overwrought, 



20 


Lean and Lank 


often times to know or hardly care, hence; an ungainly, 
awkward, knotty, hard specimen was the result. But 
since attending school, taking the exercises worked out 
and enforced by the teachers upon such as he; with the 
many good lessons on proper food, drink, sleep, they 
drilled into the boys every day,—and with Lean’s ever¬ 
lasting coaching, Lank had made marked improvement. 
His most unattractive feature now was his mop of tawny 
mane which grew too thick and fast for a poor boot¬ 
black’s best appearance. It needed constant care and 
grooming (of which he was not capable) to make it his 
glory instead of something offensive—the bane of his 
existence. 

Lank had been quick to discern the alteration in his 
personal appearance as well as the change in his mental 
ability and was growing very ambitious and energetic to 
push his advantages. He was seriously contemplating a 
change in his business. 

All such thoughts—mental decisions—were easy to 
decipher by the Judge as the boy talked on and on un¬ 
consciously unfolding his life’s history as well as his 
heart’s most earnest desires. The Judge proved a pa¬ 
tient, compassionate listener during the half hour. 

When Lank got to “going good,” Daniel left his post 
and made a small blue iron-stone china pitcher of ice- 
lemonade of which he offered the Judge a drink from a 
sparklingly clean peanut butter glass; and some vanilla 
wafers from a plate of the same material as the pitcher. 

The Judge ate and drank heartily, to the everlasting 
gratitude of the two boys. 

“Boys, I have one more question I wish to ask you. 
I have absolutely no right to ask it and you need not an¬ 
swer if you do not feel perfectly all right about it. I 
simply like you both, like the way you conduct your 
business and your lives, so far as I have been allowed to 
know. I want to know just how you do it. The ques¬ 
tion is: (both boys looked straight into his eyes), why 
do you always wear the same kind of shirt? I can un- 



Lean and Lank 


21 


derstand the trousers, but not the shirts; for they are 
always clean and well pressed and always look like the 
same shirt.” 

Both boys blushed as they looked at each other then 
burst into a fit of laughter—the only part of the program 
the Judge had not been able to join in whole heartedly. 

“Tell the Judge, Lean, you tell him.” 

Again Lean laughed as he answered. “For the simple 
reason that we have but two shirts apiece and they are 
exactly alike. I wash one for each of us every night and 
while Mrs. Bishop cooks supper I boil them on the stove, 
while Lank presses the other two with the irons she 
heats for him.” 

The Judge was thoroughly satisfied with the answer 
and said: “Splendid, boys, splendid. Another fine ex¬ 
ample of good results of team work. I thank you for 
telling me.” As he arose he took out his watch to see 
the time. The boys looked on in admiration. Within his 
heart Daniel said: “I am going to have a watch, I am 
going to be, I am going to look and do exactly like that 
some day.” 

“I must leave you boys now for it’s time for you to 
be at school—it lacks but five minutes of eight.” 

The boys jumped up and rushed for their caps and 
books, the Judge still talking: “I had no idea the time had 
passed so swiftly—you see how I have enjoyed my visit. 
I will drive you over so you won’t be late.” They both 
relaxed their speed as they went out the door led by the 
Judge. 

The first time they had ever ridden in a “big car.” 
Automobiles were very rare sights in those days. A 
Ford truck had sometimes given them a “lift”—the 
driver of the truck being a near neighbor of Mrs. Bishop 
—but never a car like this. Not a word was spoken by 
either boy as they sat very erect on the front seat with 
the Judge. When he stopped to let them out, they 
thanked him for the ride and his visit asking that he 



22 


Lean and Lank 


come again “when Mrs. Bishop,” “Mar,” would be at 
home to make it more pleasant. 

“Why, boys, my visit couldn’t have been more pleasant. 
I have thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it”—and the 
boys knew instinctively he had not lied. They had an 
exalted opinion of “the Judge.” 

While at dinner the next day the Judge told his wife 
of his visit. 

“Mary, if that boy they call Lean,” (he stopped abrupt¬ 
ly and told her how the boys, Lean and Lank had re¬ 
ceived their introduction and names while “Mary,” 
laughed and cried at the pathetic ridiculousness of it). 
“If that boy, as I started to say, could be persuaded to 
change his mind and come to us, I believe we would be 
'entertaining angels unawares’ for the future world and 
a possible president of this United States of America for 
this present world. My visit to them was an inspiration 
to me; created within me a new feeling of respect for the 
present generation and a profound respect for some un¬ 
fortunates. You must go with me on my next visit and 
be convinced as I have been that— 

“Beneath the rough, uncouth oyster shell the 
purest gem may hide,” and 
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and 
waste its sweetness on the desert air.” 


CHAPTER V 

Lean was never a typical gamin — commonly called 
street rat—who swarm suburban streets. 

He did not jeer nor petty quarrel. He had a temper 
and when roused to honest anger it was fiery—went off 
like powder when a lighted match is applied—but unlike 
powder, in that the flash was not all, only the beginning. 
Then he became a hornet, a tiger, a wild cat. He stopped 
at nothing. He would scratch, kick, bite, butt all with¬ 
out the slightest vocal sounds. He would fight till he 




Lean and Lank 


23 


was conqueror or until he would fall into a breathless, 
helpless, lifeless heap where he stood. 

Lean could not bring himself to hiss or hoot. If oc¬ 
casion arose where a hiss or hoot would have not been 
out of place, he would simply emit a soft, guttural sound 
peculiar to himself, while a smile half of pity, half of 
scorn would pass over his features. 

He could not bear filth of mind or body. If “the 
boys” were talking of what he considered improper or 
none of their business, he made it none of his and walked 
away humming to himself. 

He could not drag the gutters for bits of food care¬ 
lessly, or unavoidably or unknowingly dropped into them, 
no matter how choice the morsel, no matter how hungry 
he was. Not even for a possible silver or a miraculously 
lost gold piece would he rake in the muck and mire with 
his fingers or toes. 

Once a fellow who had been of the streets, having come 
into a small fortune on the death of a relative, amused 
himself one afternoon by tossing small coins into the 
ordure, muck and slime of the sewer just to hear the spicy 
remarks and watch the good natured jostling, rushing 
and struggling of the gamin for the coins. Lean stood 
complacently by, his hands in his pockets, watching the 
game with as much interest—more thought—than the 
headman of the show. 

The headman of the show noticed his reticent interest 
and jollied him provokingly. Lean took the overtures 
very good naturedly, but without a sound—his eyes and 
the expression of his mouth gave unmistakable notice 
that he would not have the filthy lucre. 

The manager finally tossed a small coin at his feet. 
Lean looked at it contemptuously the moment, pushed it 
slightly from him with his bare toe, then moved his place 
of vantage. 

Several onlookers silently remarked the unusual be¬ 
havior of the urchin, the look of utter disgust upon his 
face and burst into a roar of laughter at the discom- 
fortune of the man. They ever after knew Lean. 



24 


Lean and Lank 


The coin-slinger seemed to grow disgruntled after 
that; he straightened up, pulled his hat at a rakish 
tilt, his vest down,—it had separated from his trousers 
displaying a puffy ring of a soiled, striped shirt, which 
he adjusted by giving the waistband of his trousers a 
sudden pull-out pushing the dirty puff down in his trou¬ 
sers the shirt reaching its proper place as much by the 
contortions of his body as the helping of his hand. He 
then straightened his tie, gave another tug at his hat 
and with a smirking, smiling, sliding glance at Lean and 
the several by-standers, he thrust both fists in his trou¬ 
ser pockets making unsightly bulges and pulls and 
shambled off. 

Fortunate for Lean the other urchins missed that part 
of the program for some had accumulated quite a few 
dimes and nickels and an occasional quarter and it would 
have gone hard with him had they known he was even in 
part responsible for the cessation of the rain of money. 

Lean disdained unwashed hands to the Pharisaical de¬ 
gree of not “transgressing the tradition of the elders” 
and involuntarily wiped his hands upon a day old paper, 
parts of which he kept folded and crammed in his pocket 
for this express purpose, before eating a piece of bread 
or an apple, anything from his fingers if water was not 
convenient. The apple, too, was brushed and vigorously 
wiped with the paper, “for,” he told Lank “I saw a man 
at a fruit stand polish apples on his apron which he had 
just used very effectively and noisily for a handkerchief 
—the apron was already black as a pot with no telling 
what other kind of filth.” This astonishing bit of in¬ 
formation made Lank more careful of the fruit he ate 
and caused him to use his cap or shirt sleeve occasionally, 
especially if Lean had just used a piece of paper. Lank 
was negligent of this important duty, Lean thought, and 
so suggested more than once. 

At that time neither had heard of a germ theory. 

Having inherited a perfect, a healthy body; an un¬ 
selfish, gentle disposition, though held in leash, fettered, 



Lean and Lank 


25 


bound fast by poverty, often hunger, Lean's nature re¬ 
mained untarnished, — though he grew very non-com- 
mital—very quiet, very observant. 

His power and desire to make and accumulate pen¬ 
nies was innate — remarkably so. He deliberated, — at 
least he gave due thought to everything he bought. When 
he decided he really needed or wanted a thing, he bought 
it, paid the price without the slightest tremor or an 
idea of “jewing." When he gave pennies (which he often 
times did) to one more unfortunate than himself, the 
veritable widow's mite was gladly, willingly, cheerfully, 
given,—he forgetting the act the moment it was closed. 

Lean's desire to learn—learn everything especially of 
a literary nature, kept his mind and time pretty well em¬ 
ployed when not at work. The useful knowledge ac¬ 
quired, automatically placed him (he and the others en¬ 
tirely oblivious of the fact) upon a higher plane than 
those with whom he associated. And he, as uncon¬ 
sciously, became lawgiver, soothsayer and judge, as it 
were, among those whom his position in life, work and 
surroundings forced him to “buddy" with. 

Every boy on the “run" liked him, respected him and 
yielded unknowingly to his will. 

Every boy on the “run" knew too if there was an extra 
dime in the bunch, it was in Lean’s pocket. 

Lean and Lank's banks were a profound secret—not 
known even to Lank's mother. 

Walking canes, watches and fobs were Lean’s weak¬ 
nesses. He never saw a stick, a branch of a tree any 
round piece of wood, that an artistic walking cane did 
not evolve from the rough at once and he was twirling it 
around his fingers or pushing holes in the sand as he 
walked and talked. Or he was using it to move a string 
or straw that happened to obstruct the view or mar the 
beauty of the way. Or he was using it to draw slowly, 
deftly up and down the spine of a flea-eaten, hair-tor¬ 
mented dog for the sheer joy of seeing the stiffening back, 
legs and neck of the dog while gratitude beamed from the 



26 


Lean and Lank 


eyes and thanks were unmistakably expressed by the wag 
of the tail as he stood motionless for fear of disturbing 
or bringing to an end the heavenly sensation. 

Walking canes were not in vogue, but it seemed to Lean 
he had lived in an age where gentlemen never sauntered 
forth without a cane. 

He longed for a “nifty” one. 

A jewelry shop being near his place of business, his 
watch was selected, paid for and worn with dignity—in 
imagination. 

In reality he did wear a watch and chain. These he 
had assembled (after the Judge's visit) from component 
parts he had gathered from time to time from different 
sources. 

He prized them very highly, though for reasons he 
could not have explained, he usually kept these jewels 
concealed from the general public. 

The chain was made of glass beads given him from 
time to time by his confederates, mixed with a few tiny 
gold ones he had bought of a companion of like trade, 
paying a dime and two agates for them. The agates were 
the joy of his heart. This chain was held in place in his 
pocket by a curious formation of quartz he had “traded” 
for. The rock was worn quite thin, was almost round 
and smooth to slickness and shone somewhat like mother- 
of-pearl. There had been a dark spot, an imperfect or 
foreign ingredient in the rock near the edge. This Lean 
had succeeded in extricating from the main body of the 
watch by much careful, tedious work, leaving a small 
rectangular hole through which he ran his bead chain. 

Lean always kept this his first watch. It was as the 
left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit. His good luck 
piece—his mascot. 

As suffering, unfortunate humanity ripens, the mani¬ 
fold deprivations, sicknesses in want, work in cold and 
hunger often produces sullen, morose natures. Not so 
with Lean. He was cheerful, bright, surprisingly happy. 
He seemed always expecting and hopeful of growing to 
be a man—a worth-while man some day. 



Lean and Lank 


27 


He was as yet too young for the utter hopelessness of 
his position and environ to weaken his desire or to 
dampen his ardor in the least. But he did form the habit 
unfortunates usually acquire while children—the habit 
of silence—of carrying a still tongue. His was not the 
silence, however, produced by fear of punishment, but 
the silence of being unnoticed—the unquestioned, the 
nonentity, the unknown,—the nothing of humanity. 

With this habit of silence he had acquired much worth¬ 
while worldly wisdom. He was very observant and 
seemed ever looking for something that would help him 
up the ladder and hold him there until he could make 
further arrangements to go higher and he had the happy 
faculty, innate or acquired, of knowing the better some¬ 
thing to take him higher—of seizing his opportunities— 
as it were. 

His hours of lonesomeness and disappointment were 
relieved often times because of a nature overcharged with 
good nature, patience and an acute sense of the ridicu¬ 
lous. 

Many observations of the passing throngs of humanity, 
especially those of the “upper 10” interested and amused 
him very much, but he knew when to draw the veil of not 
seeing—not knowing—not understanding over his un¬ 
derstanding lit up countenance. He knew when to be 
ignorant of all happenings; to be not astonished, to be not 
frightened, be not overjoyed or even amused; to be not 
even sympathetic or saddened — not interested the least 
-—completely oblivious. In other words, he knew when 
to be a senseless, blind mute. 

He seemed to have developed a sixth sense of knowing 
just when and how much feeling and intelligence to dis¬ 
play. 

The street upon which Lean had chosen to cast his 
fortune, was as a long alley,, so high and so closely to¬ 
gether were the houses of business. His quick, discern¬ 
ing eye had noticed this was the street heavily patronized 
by the inhabitants coming from the south and east sides 



28 


Lean and Lank 


of the metropolis to have their shoes made fresh, their 
clothing brushed, their hair cut, their faces shaved and 
otherwisely refreshed before entering the more promi¬ 
nent thoroughfares a block or two farther down. Es¬ 
pecially was this true of an afternoon with the young men 
and a few eminent looking elderly gentlemen. 

Though a good financial center for Lean, he could see 
but little of what he loved to see—God's outside world— 
the sun, the moon, the stars, the birds, the bees, the 
flowers, the trees . . . 

The early, slight rustle of life beginning to stir for 
another day; the rays of the early morning sun; the loud 
squawking of a parrot at the corner grocery; the life 
giving draught of the first gentle breezes of the day (with 
which he always filled his lungs), the peeping of a stray 
flower or clump of chick-weed of the early spring; a few 
flowers in tin cans or wooden boxes later on. The 
crackling sound as of thin glass breaking, the cold hush 
of the bleak winter winds; the dogs shivering, their 
backs drawn up in a bow, their tails between their legs 
prowling around the garbage cans; the calls of the milk¬ 
man ; the shivering shuffle of the newsboys delivering the 
first news of the day to the yet sleeping world—were the 
sounds and visions of nature Lean was blest with. 

So, when a lag came in his business he would go to the 
extreme edge of the sidewalk, lean as far out as he could, 
hands rammed far down in his pockets, head thrown far 
back he would gaze long and wonderingly at the sky, be 
it fair or cloudy softly whistling to himself. When satis¬ 
fied he would give a peculiar shrug of his shoulders, turn 
on his heels with a movement of lifting his whole body 
and make a sound almost inaudible, which sounded like 
a subdued prolonged hee-o-o, hee-o-o; but any one hear¬ 
ing would instinctively have known it was the sound of 
an expression of gladness and happiness, not of worry 
and sadness; more of an inhalation, an inbibition of 
God’s strength, power, goodness and love, than an ex¬ 
halation even of contentment. 

These periods of relaxation were his vacations. 



Lean and Lank 


29 


Not so with Lank. His was the downward grade. His 
look was down upon a ring in some alley or by-street 
where with dirty hands, touseled, unkempt hair, ragged 
clothes, rusty, black, bare feet or rundown, unlaced or 
untied shoes, he shot marbles with unknown undesira¬ 
bles; or flung horse-shoes or flew kites on Sunday. The 
flying of the kites was the only vision of heaven he 
seemed to encourage, if he in fact, saw the blue sky or 
only the careening kite which seemed at times convulsed 
with pain or laughter as it cavorted and swayed back and 
forth twisting and looping its long rag-string tail with a 
bunch of bitter-weed tied at the end for a ballast as it 
zig-zagged and convoluted across the sky—now dipping 
and plunging, now dashing away as it pulled against the 
string its face exactly parallel with the anxious one peer¬ 
ing at it as the boy ran unwinding the string going with 
remarkable surety over the rough, uneven ground. 

This was Lank’s trend, these his daily avocations when 
he accidently came upon the fight at the time of his first 
meeting with Lean. 


CHAPTER yi 

Some months after the Judge’s visit, Daniel was forced 
—or he thought he was—to return the visit and in a way 
most unpleasant. Rushing up the steps one evening he 
knocked on the door—to no avail. He saw no bell. He 
waited impatiently. Finally he noticed the little button, 
rightly guessed its use. He gave it a vigorous push, 
which was promptly answered by the butler. Lean was 
surprised to see a negro so dressed up, but asked if Judge 
Farris was at home. Being told he was, he asked if he 
could see him at once. “Judge Farris is at dinner, lit¬ 
tle boy, can’t you go and come again some other time?” 

“No, I want to see him now and if you will tell him 
it’s Daniel Foster or Lean he will see me.” The butler 
left him standing in the door, but quickly returned. 




30 


Lean and Lank 


“The Judge says come right on back where he is. I 
will show you the way.” 

Daniel took off his hat—raised his head, straightened 
his shoulders and marched straight in; his face very red, 
his hair touseled, his eyes flashing. 

No one was in but the Judge and his wife; both were in 
full evening dress. Daniel's ideas of the angels and 
heaven were what he saw. Never had he seen, heard, or 
read of such beauty, such enchantment. He stood aghast, 
spell-bound. The Judge got up, shook his hand and still 
holding it led him to Mrs. Farris, who smiled sweetly as 
she took his hand and said: “The Judge has been promis¬ 
ing to bring you to see me for some time, have this chair 
and Major will fix you a plate." 

“0, thank you, Mrs. Farris,—I couldn't eat here” 
Nervously he unconsciously looked at his hands, his feet, 
his clothes; all, though clean, stood out in strong contrast 
with the Judge, his wife and the surroundings. “I came 
on a hurried, private, important business trip about 
Lank,, and I will wait outside, if you will excuse me and 
if you will have time to hear me, Judge, please." 

As he turned his bright, eager, excited eyes from her 
face to the Judge's she caught the gleam of the irresisti¬ 
ble curl of the mouth and was completely captivated, as 
the Judge knew she would be. 

The Judge was quick to see the “change of heart" in his 
wife and said: “Mrs. Farris is my partner in everything, 
Daniel, and unless you really insist upon not doing so, 
you may sit right there, eat dinner with us and tell me 
your business at the same time." 

As he noticed his confusion again, the Judge con¬ 
tinued : “Mrs. Farris and I are going to the opera to¬ 
night and dressed before dinner. When I was a boy like 
you I went without a coat and barefooted, too, so you are 
all right so far as that goes." 

“Thank you, Judge, but I can't bear for Mrs. Farris to 
hear what I came to tell you. I would rather you tell her 
if—if . . . you think it's all right." 

“Are you in too great a hurry for me to finish my din- 



Lean and Lank 


31 


ner? If so, I will go with you now. If not, you must 
eat with us, then I will hear you.” 

“Thank you, I can’t eat, and—I—hate to disturb you, 
sir,—I am in a great hurry—I—will wait for you.” 

“I will go with you now, Daniel.” 

The moment they were alone Daniel began: 

“Judge, a cop is at Mrs. Bishop’s,—he accuses Lank of 
taking some money and they found it under the mat at 
the door step. Lank did not take it, you know that as 
well as I do, he and his mother are nearly crazy.” Lean 
had talked so energetically, so excitedly the Judge had to 
keep perfectly quiet and still to catch his meaning. 

“Excuse me, Daniel, I will be back in a moment.” 
When he returned he said: “I have cancelled all my en¬ 
gagements for tonight,—I’ll go with you.” 

“0, I knew you would! Come on quick, Judge! Lank 
is so angry (and I do not blame him) he might do some¬ 
thing he ought not; so, please hurry! I will tell you all 
I know about it on the way. His mother is just crying, 
says she knows he did not do such a thing. She is not 
crying for that, for she knows he didn’t; she is crying 
because Lank is so hurt. 

“Lank wants to fight. He says they know he did not 
take what does not belong to him. The cops know he 
would not have put the money under the doormat, if 
they have any sense at all and they shall not take him to 
jail just because he has no one to stand up for him; that 
whoever took the money knew that and they would make 
him suffer for their wrong doing. Oh, it’s bad, Judge! 
The cop said for Lank to be ready to go with him when 
he came back from round on the next street where he had 
to go for a few minutes. So I slipped out while they 
were arguing, borrowed a bicycle, and ran all the way as 
hard as I could to get you, for I knew you would know 
what to do and would do it.” 

The Judge with Daniel drove up just as the cop was 
coming out of the gate with Lank—his mother ready to 
go with him. 



32 


Lean and Lank 


The Judge was recognized at once by the man in charge 
to whom he spoke very pleasantly. “What's the trouble 
here, Hendricks?" 

Mr. Hendricks explained. 

“I'll go with Lank, Mrs. Bishop, you stay here with 
Daniel. We'll look after Lank all right. Hendricks, 
can't we three go down in my car?" 

“I think so, Judge." 

“Very well, come." 

Lank stood perfectly still almost in his natural pose. 
He drew back slightly as the policeman stepped nearer. 
Judge Farris noticing the movement said: “Come with 
us. Lank, Mr. Hendricks nor I are going to see you 
wrongfully treated." At once his head went up,—he 
stepped forward in perfect confidence. The three entered 
the car and drove off leaving Mrs. Bishop weeping, em¬ 
barrassed, hurt—but satisfied that Lank would be fairly 
dealt with. 

Fear, anger, wounded pride and sympathy passed in 
cycles over Daniel's face, but he smiled up into her face, 
as they turned, went into the house, closed the door and 
sat down to wait. Very few words were exchanged, 
both were content to remain silent. 

Before nine the Judge with Lank came back. 

“Mrs. Bishop, Mr. Hendricks doesn’t believe Lank took 
that twenty dollar bill, but some one did and hid it un¬ 
der your doormat; why, we do not know. I will come 
for him in the morning. We will ferret this thing out 
and have the guilty party make public confession before 
you, Lank and Lean." 

“Thank you, Judge. I have never been implicated in 
anything like this before and am completely stunned,:— 
do not know what to do. It hurts, cruelly hurts, to have 
my son accused of such a low crime." She smiled through 
her tears, “I’ve heard the boys speak so often of you, 
Judge, won’t you come in?" 

“Thank you, not tonight, it's too late. Don't any of 
you worry now. Lank is all right and will continue to 
be all right. Good night." 



Lean and Lank 


33 


“Good night,” chorused the three. “God bless you” in 
a woman's clear, low, trembling voice reached his ear as 
he raised his hat and walked away. 

“The Judge is a wonderful man. I don’t wonder at 
you boys for adoring him,” and Mrs. Bishop fell across 
her bed weeping for relief she felt and bitter hurt. 

When Judge Farris stopped in front of the Bishop door 
the next morning a few minutes before nine, Daniel was 
out to meet him. 

“Judge, may I go with you and Lank to the court¬ 
house?” 

The Judge felt inexpressably impressed with the small 
boy’s loyalty; his anxiety to see justice meted out to his 
friend. He knew, too, what a financial loss it would be 
for both boys to be away from their work. Placing his 
hand gently upon the boy’s head,, he bent it back so as 
to look into his face and said: “Daniel, I can and do ap¬ 
preciate how you feel for Lank,—of course, you can and 
may go, but it is my wish that you stay here and get 
things in readiness for Mrs. Bishop and Lank, or go to 
your work. You will understand why I wish this when 
you grow older.” 

Daniel dropped his eyes, turned and the two walked to 
the steps where Lank and his mother stood waiting. 

“The Judge thinks best that I not go with you, Lank,” 
said Daniel as he approached the older boy, who seemed 
to have undergone a complete transformation during the 
night. He stood very erect, as at attention. He was 
scrupulously clean; his tawny mane, though long, was 
combed and brushed smoothly, slickly back from the 
brow, which had the effect of enlarging the eyes, that 
behind the hair had seemed small and inexpressive. The 
mouth,, though large, was well shaped and now firmly 
set. He wore the same shirt and jean trousers of the 
day before, but they were clean and well pressed. The 
expression on his face read: “Beware, the one who lies 
on me today. I am now a defenseless boy, but will one 
day be a man.” 



34 


Lean and Lank 


As they approached the courthouse Mr. Hendricks 
greeted them with: “I have handled quick jobs, but I 
believe this is the quickest shot yet. When I reached 
headquarters after leaving you last night, Judge, I found 
Johns here with the colored ‘gent’ you see with him. 
Johns happened to be standing just around the corner 
from the store when the negro almost ran into him as he 
was hurriedly ramming a paper bill into his pocket. His 
suspicions were aroused; he followed him. The negro 
looking back, saw the move to follow him and increased 
his speed. As Johns looked up after getting his motor 
started, he saw the negro leave the yard where I later 
found tracks leading to the steps and to the bill. He 
caught the negro by heading him off as he came through 
a narrow alley-like place. This boy you have with you 
was suspected by the proprietor of the store solely be¬ 
cause he was walking hurriedly around the corner and 
down the street when he rushed to the door upon finding 
the bill had disappeared. The negro has confessed, told 
what he did and how he did it. So, as soon as necessary 
preliminaries are over, you can go home with your 
mother, little man. We are sorry to have embarrassed 
you and your mother and I beg your pardon for the part 
I played, a duty I am under oath to do. I hope you will 
never have occasion to be this near a jail again.” 

“Like conditions have never appeared to me before as 
now, Hendricks. You who are in authority should be 
very, very careful whom you arrest,—how you accuse 
people. Some natures are very refined and sensitive, and 
to be accused like this, it hurts—hurts—beyond all heal¬ 
ing sometimes.” Solemnly spoke the Judge. 

Mr. Hendricks looked with increased interest and un¬ 
derstanding compassion upon mother and son, who said 
not a word. They stood close together, never exchanging 
glances during the entire procedure. 

When they reached home they found Lean eagerly ex¬ 
pectant, but surprised at such an early return. He had 
pictured Lank behind prison bars, subsisting upon bread 
and water, sleeping upon an iron cot. He had been 



Lean and Lank 


35 


miserable. He had spent the time while they were away 
wondering, planning, figuring how he could make more 
money,—how he could save more from what he was now 
making so as to be able to “pay Lank out.” 

Lank had said but little to anyone the long hours he 
had lived under the dark flag. He could not analyze his 
feelings—did not try—he knew nothing of analysis. 
While the others were sleeping that night—if indeed they 
slept—he had been, peering into his future—had made 
some plans, had revolutionized his brain. 

Lank had stoically sworn within himself that here¬ 
after he would use good language. He knew he could if 
he would think, would put in practice what he had really 
learned from study and observation and his association 
with Lean. 

Hence, his mother and Lean were entirely taken by 
surprise—were nonplused a few nights after his trial, 
—when he emphatically announced that he would shine 
shoes no more for a living. “I am fifteen years old 
and large for my age. I can read, write, spell and 
figure very well—thanks to you Lean—and I am through 
‘pressing brick’ on—street corners, baking in the sun, 
shivering in the cold and rain, half starved; lots of times 
taking rebuffs from ingrates,— humans in form, beasts 
in character;—worse still when ‘high hatters’—bums 
belonging to the upper ten, as well as bums belonging to 
the lower five; after I have done my very best on their 
shoes, dusted the dirt and dust from their clothes to have 
them march off without a penny’s pay, not even a ‘thank 
you.’ I get angry enough to fight,—to kill them; but, 
being helpless both as to strength and size, position and 
influence I have to hold in, hence,—I have learned good 
lessons in self-control and am a pretty good reader of 
human nature. I have at least learned to be a human, 
not a brute; and to appreciate; to be on time and best 
of all, I reckon, to keep my mouth shut; so after all I 
have been well paid for my time and services,—I reckon.” 

Both Mrs. Bishop and Lean were surprised, dum- 



36 


Lean and Lank 


founded at such an outburst of eloquence—to hear such 
a lengthy, well worded, well delivered speech from Lank. 
He did not usually make long speeches and what he did 
make were always more or less ungrammatical; but 
this was a master speech, masterfully delivered, Lean 
thought. It was a perfect declamation for Lank. 

So, accordingly, Lank left the house early the next 
morning with Lean but not to his stand on the corner. He 
bought a morning's paper from a newsboy friend and 
walked to the Union Station where he could have a seat 
and read unmolested. He diligently searched the Help 
Wanted column. He found two openings he thought— 
he knew —he could fill, and several others he would try 
for if he failed in the “sure ones.” He cut the ads out 
with his pocket knife. Neatly folding the paper he left 
it on the seat, walked to a barber shop, had his hair cut 
short and “the very best way for me”; he then bought 
a fifty-cent tie, walked over to a mirror, tied it neat four- 
in-hand, made smooth his soft collar and “set” his cap 
with unusual care. When outside the store he took the 
most favorable ad from his pocket read it carefully and 
began his search. Thirty minutes passed before he 
found the place. Here he found he was more than thirty 
minutes late—another boy had been employed. He re¬ 
gretted this, for the place was cool and inviting. He 
did so need and want the job and was so sure he could 
have done the work successfully. 

The second best place he found only a block from the 
first. Here, too, he was unsuccessful. The waiting room 
was full of boys who had been “turned down” and were 
dragging themselves out. He walked on and on; tried 
place after place, to no avail. He was discouraged, tired, 
and hungry. He had but one dime to his credit. He 
found Lean on his corner. He, too, was somewhat 
gloomy for he had done but little that morning, had had 
only three customers, had only twenty-five cents to his 
credit,—five cents of the thirty made that morning, had 
gone for a paper. 



Lean and Lank 


37 


Lean hardly knew the well groomed, shining Lank as 
he came sauntering up. 

“Have a shine, sir?” he said in a mock courtesy, bow¬ 
ing low indicating the chair by a graceful sweep of his 
hand. 

“I believe I will,” and Lank seated himself upon the 
chair, placed his feet against the rack, and opening the 
paper Lean had placed in his hand, he leaned back and 
began reading. 

Lean made them “look like new” and accepted the fee, 
with a “thank you, sir” and the unfailing, irresistible 
curl of mouth. He slipped the dime in his pocket. The 
paper was folded and placed upon the rack. They gazed 
at each other a long second, then Lank went home—Lean 
to the nearest fruit stand for an apple and orange. 

“What luck, Lank?” kindly greeted Lean as he came 
into the room that evening and near enough to lay the 
morning and evening papers upon his lap. 

“Not much, Lean, how about yourself?” 

“Bum, bum, this morning,, but on an average this af¬ 
ternoon,—enough for a ten-cent bonus,” he grinned as 
he emptied his tobacco sack upon the table and counted 
out two even piles of sixty cents each. Pushing one pile 
toward Lank and into his hand, the other he deposited in 
his savings box. 

Lank leaned his face upon his hand and for a long 
while eyed the six dimes while Lean began making 
preparations for the evening’s wash. Finally Lank 
changed his clothes after putting the iron on the stove— 
the sixty cents still standing untouched. 

Supper was soon ready, and somewhat choicer than 
usual. Both boys were hungry, but somehow Lank could 
not eat. He talked but little. After supper he worked 
fast, helped Lean along and when their work was finished 
said: “Lean, I want you to take this paper and look 
over these want ads while I take the other. Tomorrow is 
Saturday and I must get me a place so I can begin work 
Monday. I am going to use that sixty cents of yours. 



38 


Lean and Lank 


I’ll pay it back with interest when I get it”; and walking 
to the table he put the money in his pocket, handed one 
paper to Lean and sitting down began his search. Lean 
did likewise. The only sound to be heard was the clash 
of an occasional dish as Mrs. Bishop was cleaning up the 
kitchen and the rattle of the papers as they were being 
scanned. Several ads were marked and after being read 
by Lank, were cut out. 

They went to school and fortunately for them that 
night, the sessions were cut; letting them home forty 
minutes earlier. 

On the morrow they sallied forth more sober looking 
than usual. Lank had no work, he needed it, must have 
it. Lean decided within himself “If Lank fails to land 
a job today—I’ll try my hand Monday.” As they sepa¬ 
rated at Lean’s corner he said: “Come by about dinner 
time if you’ve gotten your job and we’ll go 50-50 on what 
I make for dinner. If you haven’t a job, come by any¬ 
way.” 

“All right,, if I am not too tired and not too far off 
when I quit trying, to get there by dinner.” 

No job for Lank and no prospects for one when the 
noon hour came, and he was too far from Lean, too 
tired, too discouraged to go to him, — so he followed 
Lean’s example in buying a couple of apples and sat on 
the curbing, by a peanut parcher to eat them. The odor 
of the parched nuts added zest to his already ravenous 
appetite. He bought a package and with the apples they 
made a feast. He wondered if any housewife had tried 
them together—apples and parched peanuts—they were 
good . 

Lean was disappointed when Lank didn’t show up at 
noon and slightly worried when he reached home that 
night and found he had not gotten home. Mrs. Bishop 
showed she was worried and when nine o’clock came and 
no Lank, she became alarmed. 

“Where do you suppose Son can be, Lean? You haven’t 
seen him since morning?” 

Daniel shook his head thoughtfully. “But don’t get 



Lean and Lank 


39 


worried or frightened, Mrs. Bishop, if he doesn’t come 
by ten I will go to Judge Farris. He will tell us what 
to do and the best way to do it. It may be he got a job 
and had to work late. Lank would call us, I am sure, if 
we had a ’phone and let . . . ” 

A car stopped at the door. Instantly Mrs. Bishop and 
Lean were on their feet, Mrs. Bishop pale as death. They 
reached the door as Lank was being helped out of a car 
by two men. He came walking limply, being supported 
on either side by the men; his right arm in a sling, his 
head heavily bandaged, the odor of an anesthetic strongly 
clinging to his clothing. After he was made comfortable 
and explanations given as to the trouble, the men left, 
saying the doctor would call in the morning. 

“What’s the matter, Son? How did this happen?” 

“An automobile struck me slightly as I was on my way 
home, but enough to knock me down. My arm was broken 
in two places, a gash cut high on my forehead (the 
doctor had to take several stitches in it) a little hole in 
the side of my head—it bled lots, but didn’t amount to 
much, will be right sore a few days, the doctor said. I 
am all right—just a little goofy from so much of that 
medicine. The lady, who was driving the car that struck 
me, sent me home. She paid the doctor for fixing me up 
and said she would pay any other bills necessary for 
my comfort and welfare. She gave me twenty-five dol¬ 
lars, but I would not take it—I told her I was as much to 
blame for the accident as she was.” 

“Who is she, Lank?” 

“I forget, kinder funny name. They must be rich for 
her car was big and fine and she was beautifully dressed. 
She was scared nearly to death when she struck me down 
she screamed and cried like she had killed me. I told her 
not to cry for I wasn’t hurt much. A policeman came 
up—they all talked around. While some one went to 
’phone her husband, I was picked up and carried to a 
doctor’s office,—then I knew no more. I don’t remember 
a thing after they began to pick me up until I waked up 
in this shape. The doctor’s name is Holders, I believe. 



40 


Lean and Lank 


I have his card in my pocket.” As he pulled out the card 
several bills came out with it. Lank smiled when he saw 
the money. “She was determined I should have it—and 
I do not remember her name and address, but I’ll find 
out from the doctor when he comes to look me over.” 

“Did you land your job, Lank?” whispered Lean the 
first opportunity. 

“Yes, but I might as well not have. I have to use both 
my hands continuously—and—” a cruel, hurt expression 
came over his face, his entire body slumped. He lay 
across his mother’s bed, dozing spasmodically. After a 
while he got up and dragged himself to his and Lean’s 
sleeping quarters. 


CHAPTER VII 

When Lean came to make his home with Mrs. Bishop 
and Lank, part of the back passage-way had been peti¬ 
tioned off from the rest of the hall by broad boards— 
which originally was a dry goods box, making a small bin¬ 
like room for the two boys. A small, but comfortable 
bed; a small box for their meager supply of wearing ap¬ 
parel and a chair, comprised the furniture. The bed fur¬ 
nished a seat if both had to sit in the room at the same 
time. A twenty-five cent mirror hanging on the wall 
over a box, a comb, brush, glass, two tooth brushes,— 
were the only accessories; one picture “The End of the 
Trail,” was the only decoration. The one window, a 
single sash, had been put in by the two boys and fixed so 
it could easily be pushed up and down and on the outside 
of the window a piece of gauze had been tightly stretched 
and neatly tacked. The window was let down every 
morning to protect the bed should it rain while all were 
away at work. One of the first acts of the boys, upon 
reaching home, was to raise this window, regardless of 
weather, unless it was pouring rain; which seemed to 
give so much more room in their close quarters. 

Lank walked to the window, leaned his aching head 




Lean and Lank 


41 


against the facing and stood for a long while looking at 
the heavens which seemed clear and bright though but 
one star was visible—its vestal radiance, soothing, ap¬ 
pealing with the soft glow of a clear, full moon. 

Lean left Lank to himself for full half hour—he knew 
how Lank felt. A bright thought took possession of 
him—“possibly he could hold Lank’s place until his arm 
and other injuries were healed.” He hurried in and told 
Lank of his plans. Lank slowly, turned his head, looked 
at his friend with gratitude in every expression,—he said 
nothing—but slowly turned from the window, sat upon 
the bed and with Lean’s and his mother’s help made 
ready for the night. When both boys were in bed, Lank 
said: “Lean, I was not to begin work until Monday week 
—eight days from now,—maybe I can do something then, 
enough to hold my place; but I must report to my boss 
day after tomorrow, let him know conditions. I—I hope 
we can manage some way—to keep the place, Lean, for 
I do want it so badly—jobs are so hard to get, so many 
need work—so many anxious for the job I have, I am 
afraid ...” The boys placing an arm around each 
other finished the sentence. 

“How much does it pay, Lank?” after a long pause. 

“A dollar and a quarter a day to begin with, with double 
pay on Saturday if I stay until nine o’clock. I don’t have 
to be at work until 8:15, get off at 12:15, have forty 
minutes for lunch, then work until six. The place is 
near the Journal office, so I stopped in on my way to see 
if I could deliver the morning paper and got that job too. 
All together I could easily have made twelve or fourteen 
dollars a week. Think of it—forty or forty-five dollars 
a month, Lean! I guess I was so happy thinking about 
my jobs I was not thinking enough about automobiles 
. . . ” Lank turned his face away, Lean’s arm still 
around him, he drew closer. The next hour found them 
asleep. Lank slept very well when he first went to sleep, 
from the effects of the opiate, but became very restless in 
the early morning hours. 



42 


Lean and Lank 


Lean went with Lank to the place where he was to 
have begun work the following Monday. Lank simply 
and without equivocation told Mr. Rosser, his employer, 
of the accident. Told him he thought it right to let him 
know his true condition before time for him to report 
for duty. 

Mr. Rosser was, in the eyes of the world, a success¬ 
ful business man, but in the common jargon of the street 
he was “hard-boiled.” 

“I can not dally along with cripples and near invalids 
—the work has to be done jamb up and you are in no 
condition to deliver the goods. You might come back 
when you are fully recovered and if the place is not satis¬ 
factorily filled I might then be able to give you the place. 
But do not come back until you are entirely well.” 

At this point Lean interposed: “I am his friend. I live 
with him. Could I hold the place for him until he gets 
well?” 

“No, you are too small, too frail looking to do the 
work,” he snapped, and turning toward his desk the boys 
knew they were summarily dismissed. They turned 
quickly toward the exit, and passed out into the street; 
Lank going to his home, Lean to his chair on the corner. 


CHAPTER VIII 

As a result of worried sympathy for his unfortunate 
“buddy” Lean lost several possible customers as he let 
them pass by unnoticed. The financial results that night 
showed to what extent his mental worries had interferred 
with his manual labor—at least a third short of the aver¬ 
age. “This will never do. I must add to, not subtract 
from. I will do better tomorrow. I will be on the job 
earlier and stay later—we’ll pull along some way until 
Lank is fit again.” 

The morrow brought on a worse situation in the finan¬ 
cial realm of the boys. It began pouring rain just be¬ 
fore the day began and kept raining all day—not a rift 




Lean and Lank 


43 


in the clouds—not one vision of the sun. Mrs. Bishop 
went to her work leaving the boys alone with their griefs 
and sorrows—Lank with his pains and a rise in tem¬ 
perature, caused, no doubt, as much by the worry and 
loss of sleep over financial conditions as by his sufferings. 

Lean made himself a handy-Andy, and tried to make 
sunshine out of clouds,—tried to make Lank forget; but 
made, he thought, a miserable failure. The day did end, 
—as all days will. Mrs. Bishop came home tired and 
soaking wet. After making herself comfortable, she put 
on the brisket she had brought from the market which 
was soon converted into a most savory smelling stew. 
Lank was especially fond of this stew with toast and 
coffee,—his spirits revived somewhat as preparations for 
the meal progressed. 

Several days of undisturbed, unmitigated impatience 
passed. Lank being left alone all day was growing de¬ 
spondent—bluer than Lean had thought possible,—and 
he too, was beginning to feel depressed. 

He walked slowly to his work in deep thought and 
failed to see the Judge approaching until his cordial, 
“Good morning, Daniel, haven’t seen you in sometime. 
How are you?” brought him to his senses. 

“Good morning, Judge, I am all right, and you are 
certainly looking well. How is Mrs. Farris?” 

The Judge was promptly installed in the chair, the 
paper placed at his disposal. 

The paper unread lay spread out over the Judge’s 
knees. 

As Daniel was finishing the “splendid job,” which he 
always did for the Judge, he looked up and catching 
sight of his own name in the Wanted to Find column, 
grabbed the paper up, stood very erect as he read: “The 
wearer of this name Daniel B. Foster, called ‘Lean’ by 
his fellows, call at No. . . . important. Of special in¬ 
terest to him.” 

“Judge could that be me, you reckon?” said Daniel 
excitedly as he turned the paper, holding it so the Judge 



44 


Lean and Lank 


could read, indicating the paragraph with a long, taper¬ 
ing finger. 

“Yes, sir, it looks exactly like it really means you.” 

Lean’s face flushed angrily, no pleasant curl appeared 
about his mouth—“Judge, my conscience is clear. I have 
done nothing wrong knowingly. What does it mean? 
Do you suppose some one has done something wrong and 
put it off on me like they did Lank?” 

“No, nothing of that kind, Daniel, I am sure. Would 
you like for me to go with you to find your man? That 
is the number of Mr. William Brannon’s office. I am 
almost sure—a lawyer I know quite well.” 

“0, sir, if you only will.” The pleasing curve of lips 
asserted itself as he stood very straight, his hands clasped 
behind him looking straight into the Judge’s eyes. 

“It is now eight-thirty,—a very good time to find him 
in his office alone, I suspect. Suppose we hurry around 
there now. I have an hour yet before my first engage¬ 
ment.” 

“All right, thank you, sir,” slowly spoke Daniel—he 
was mentally counting the dimes he would lose in the 
hour, calculating the heavy loss at the close of the day; 
but this was the best time possible for him, as the Judge 
would be with him. He cast all painful mental calcula¬ 
tions and reflections aside, placed his chair where it 
would be least in the way, folded the paper, put it un¬ 
der his arm, put on his cap coyishly (a style all his own) 
and hurried with the Judge to his car. They got in and 
were soon at the correct number,—Mr. Wm. Brannon’s 
office it proved to be. 

“Mr. Brannon is not in. He is expected any minute.” 

“We will wait.” 

After a few minutes, Judge Farris and Daniel were 
asked back in Mr. Brannon’s office. The formal greeting 
and Daniel’s introduction over, Mr. Brannon turned to 
his desk and from a “pigeon hole” drew out a paper 
which he handed Judge Farris. The Judge read and 
passed it on to Daniel trying to imagine, as he did so, just 
how Daniel would feel as he read and understood. 



Lean and Lank 


45 


“Congratulations, my boy,” spoke both men each ap¬ 
propriating a hand as he passed the paper back to Mr. 
Brannon. His eyes grew large with wonder and sur¬ 
prise ; he was a little confused and embarrassed. At first 
he could not remember the old man whom he had helped 
across the street after recovering his hat, which had 
blown off and directly under the back wheels of a buggy, 
leaving it badly soiled and crushed. He did remember, 
after a little, very distinctly everything that had occur¬ 
red that blustery, drizzly day—after an unprecedented 
drought. How vividly now he recalled the slightly bent 
form of the grey-haired man, whose locks were thin and 
blew like frayed cloth in the wind; the squint grey eyes 
which penetrated your every thought, but kindly; the 
shriveled, brown-splotched, somewhat palsied hand as he 
took his hat after Daniel had brushed and straightened 
it; the peculiarly made, soft shoes which he had freed 
from the loose dust clinging to them from the bespattered 
rain on the dust laden street. Very distinctly now did he 
recall how the old fellow had asked his full name and 
many other questions as he brushed his shoes and the 
dust from his clothes charging him nothing as he seemed 
so old and feeble. Now the old man was dead and had 
remembered him in his will leaving him one thousand 
dollars. His lawyers had written Mr. Brannon to insert 
the ad in his home paper requesting him to send in the 
proper credentials as soon as the party was found . . . 
“And do you know that ad has been in the paper six 
weeks and you are just seeing it. Daniel, you and the 
Judge must not be very close readers.” The accused 
looked each other in the eye and smiled. 

Everything being properly signed and fixed, the two 
left Mr. Brannon’s office. Daniel was superfluous with 
his thanks. 

“Well, Daniel, I guess you won’t work today—you will 
want to celebrate your good fortune.” 

“0, yes sir, I must work right on. I am so happy I 
feel that I could do a thousand times more than ever 
now,” then his face fell as he continued, “but I would 



46 


Lean and Lank 


like Lank to know because . . . ” Then he told of 
Lank’s misfortunes. 

“You see Lank can’t work. I made but little Monday, 
nothing yesterday, so you see I must work extra hard 
today.” 

“Yes, yes, I see. I suppose so. Rather unusual though 
at this time of life,” mused the Judge. “Suppose we 
drive by then and let Lank know before we both have to 
go to work. We’ll come right back and get on our jobs.” 

Daniel looked up into the Judge’s face with the hap¬ 
piest, merriest, most irresistible curve of lips imaginable, 
“All right, sir. Thank you,”—was all he could say. He 
leaned back in the corner of the seat, was very thought¬ 
ful a few moments as he watched the Judge slowly, care¬ 
fully, steer his car to a less congested street. When the 
car was noiselessly speeding along Daniel said: 

“I wish I had known that old man. I know he must 
be, must have been good—very good to everyone, es¬ 
pecially to little boys. I certainly do thank him, but I 
do not think I did anything to even think much about, 
much less giving me a thousand dollars. I am glad I 
gave him an extra good shine. I remember how soft and 
old fashioned his shoes were which made me think he was 
old and poor. I felt sorry for him and did my very best 
by them.” 

“Don’t you do your best with every shine, Daniel?” 

“Yes, sir. By 'very best’ I mean like I do a customer 
who sits and talks a little before I give him a dust. Some, 
lots of them, I am glad when I have finished with them 
and they are gone ... A thousand dollars!” Daniel 
whistled and uttered his hee-o-o, hee-o-o. “Gee, I never 
expected to have that much money in my whole life at 
one time! And, Judge, it is too much for me. I am go¬ 
ing to give half of it to Lank and I want you to take the 
other half and keep it for me.” 

The Judge looked at the small boy beside him in 
thoughtful admiration and astonishment. He could not 
or did not express himself. They were nearing the 



Lean and Lank 


47 


Bishop’s door. He simply said: “I’ll wait to take you 
back to your work, if you wish it, Daniel.” 

“If you have the time to spare, Judge, I will appreci¬ 
ate it. I won’t be long. Won’t you come in?” 

“Not this time, Daniel, thank you.” Though the Judge 
would have given lots to have witnessed that meeting, to 
have seen their faces, heard the remarks; but he felt it 
would be robbing the boys of the one thousand dollars, 
so he calmly turned his back to the house, rested one leg 
across the other and puffed away at a fragrant cigar. 

Lank sat all alone thinking over his misfortunes. Three 
years ago he would not have minded his infirmities— 
they would simply have meant days, possibly weeks, in¬ 
doors with nothing to do, nothing to think of, nothing to 
worry over; merely to eat, drink and sleep. Now he was 
ambitious, he wanted to make every moment count, 
stagnation of any nature riled him. He had nothing to 
read. He and Daniel had read everything in the house 
several times over—he had nothing to interest, nothing 
to entertain him. He was as morose as a boy his age 
could be. His brooding led to action, he must do some¬ 
thing. Striking the table hard with his fist he jumped to 
his feet, and in determined voice said: “I will find some¬ 
thing I can do with my left hand and bursted head; I will 
not sit . . . ” 

Just here Daniel came in the door much to Lank’s con¬ 
sternation and surprise. The reflection was never 
finished. Daniel gave not the slightest indication that 
he had heard Lank’s outburst; he handed the paper with 
the ad heavily marked to Lank indicating unmistakably 
the paragraph with his long, shapely forefinger. Without 
looking up Lank read, then reread again. It was time 
to look up now—“What does it mean, Lean, have you 
tried to find this number?” 

“Yes, I found that number and it means we are worth 
one thousand dollars, but I can not tell you about it now, 
the Judge is waiting to take me back to town. I must 
hurry; I will tell you all about it tonight.” 



48 


Lean and Lank 


“A thousand dollars! Lean, what on earth are you 
going to do with all that money ?” 

“Give half of it to you, the other half to Judge Farris 
to keep for me until I need it.” 

“Don’t go now, Lean—not to work this time of day. 
Why it’s most twelve ...” pleaded Lank, but Lean did 
not hear the concluding remarks, he was getting in the 
car; he and the Judge were driving off as Lank got to the 
steps. 

“Well, Daniel, as you are such a lucky young fellow, 
I want you to lunch with me today at this cafe we are 
now approaching. It is tip-top I know, I’ve tried it num¬ 
bers of times. We will go further down where we can 
park our car out of this crowded district and walk back, 
how about it?” 

“Under these conditions, Judge, that you lunch with 
me ,—let me have the pleasure, the honor of spending the 
first of my good fortune on you.” 

“You are trying to take advantage now, Daniel,” 
smiled the Judge down into the happy face beside him. 
“You know it is my turn now. I dined with you and 
Lank in your home, and besides, you haven’t gotten your 
fortune yet. The Romans had a saying something like 
this: ‘Nothing is certain but uncertainty,’ ‘What is un¬ 
certain counts as nothing.’ But we will compromise this 
way. You eat with me today and when your thousand 
dollars is certain, when you have it in your hands, I’ll 
eat with you that same day.” 

“All right, Judge, I was ‘counting my chickens before 
they are hatched’—wasn’t I?” 

“In a way, yes. Here’s our place.” 


CHAPTER IX 

Lank had not recovered from the surprise of what he 
had read and heard at Lean’s hurried exit, when a loud 
rap called him back to the door. 




Lean and Lank 


49 


“Is this where Mrs. Walter Bishop lives—and is this 
?” 

“Yes, Uncle Rob, we still live here and I am ... ” 

“Well, well I am glad to see you, Robert. But what 
have you done to yourself? You have gotten to be such a 
fine looking boy! I can say now without fear of wound¬ 
ing you, you used to be so powerful ugly. Your eyes that 
I thought were too small and green are fine and large,— 
look almost brown behind those long, jet black, curling 
lashes/’ laughed his uncle slapping him affectionately 
upon the back, “why you are really a handsome fellow 
now,—but why the sling and bandages?” 

Hurried explanations were given while Lank hustled 
around trying to make this much loved uncle feel com¬ 
fortably at home. 

“Where is your mother?” 

“She’s at work. She will be here in a very few minutes 
now.” 

“Bob, don’t worry about this room. You might hurt 
your arm, side, or head; it is all right. 

“How would you like to go home with me and live— 
at least until your arm and other afflictions are all well ?” 

“I would enjoy it, Uncle Robert, but I don’t think 
mother and I could leave now.” 

“Why?” 

“We have a boarder, a boy nearly my size; he has to 
work every day. He has been with us a long time—he 
has no other home.” 

“Couldn’t he come too?—the more the merrier. I could 
certainly use him to his and my advantage if he would.” 

“I don’t know,, Uncle Robert, I can’t tell about Lean 
and he won’t be home before six or six-thirty. He has 
been too good to me and mother for us to leave him. He 
is all the help we have had since I have been lain up— 
oh, you don’t know how very good and helpful he is and 
has been to us.” 

“I think I could make things so interesting for him— 
you—for us all, that possibly he would be willing, even 
anxious to go with us.” 



50 


Lean and Lank 


“Possibly so,—here comes mother, you and she can talk 
it over,” and he quietly left them — rejoicing in the 
thought that something now would happen he was sure, 
—something would be found that he could do with one 
arm, dilapidated head and side, to help make a liveli¬ 
hood. He walked out on the back porch where he could 
take as full, deep breath as he felt was necessary that he 
must take and expel it without inference; he then 
drank two glasses of water before he felt he could return 
to the room and hear the blessed tidings which his uncle 
bore. He knew they were blessed, if brought by Uncle 
Robert. 

He found his mother sobbing. Lank had seen his 
mother cry, but always softly to herself—he had seen her 
when he knew she had been weeping, but it was the first 
time he had seen her so audibly affected. He soon un¬ 
derstood they were tears of joy; he also saw that his 
mother was ready, anxious to do her brother’s bidding. 

Mrs. Bishop had known for sometime that some change 
would have to be made or they would be forced into the 
street. House rent, though small, had to be paid regu¬ 
larly—oh, so regularly; water, grocery, meat, clothing 
and shoe bills! She could not see how she could manage 
longer—something had to happen. She had put on a 
brave front, seldom had she been forced to allow the boys 
to see her in tears,—for Lean and Lank were doing all 
they could, but because of this accident to Lank—she had 
not been able to see how they could possibly pull through 
this time. Mrs. Bishop had passed the point in living 
poverty where a garment, when wearing out, is held up 
to the light for one last inspection, and with some degree 
of satisfaction could say in her mind as she beheld the 
garment, “Yes, you can stand one more wear, one more 
laundering, then to the rag-bag. And what a nice, soft, 
useful cloth you will make for cleaning when the buttons 
are cut off. Yes, next week I will do some extra clean¬ 
ing. I hope when you are ready for the rag-bag it will 
be nice, clear weather, so we can accomplish much.” 

No, she had reached the stage of poverty where the 



Lean and Lank 


51 


decay, the deterioration of a garment was a dire calamity 
—stark tragedy. Now the sun was pouring in, her heart 
was at flood stage, too full to hold more; so it was over¬ 
flowing as she without comment listened to her brother 
explain the “Open Sesame.” 

“This is the situation thus far, Lydia: Laura's father 
died last August, leaving his immense holdings in a mess. 
At last his affairs have been straightened out and set¬ 
tled. She has that large truck and dairy farm on her 
hands as well as bank stock and other interests. She 
wants me to swap places with her as she can not look 
after so much especially the great number of laborers she 
must necessarily employ. We are to pool everything and 
share everything equally. 

“Some labor is so uncertain, so unsatisfactory I would 
not think of undertaking such a thing until I could see 
you and find out if you would come in with us and over¬ 
see the milk rooms. Do no actual work, just see that the 
machinery — everything is scrupulously clean, in good 
working order so as to make it and keep it an A No. 1 
affair. 

“As delivery comes so early and late, Bob could be on 
the delivery wagon both morning and evening to see to 
right delivery, until we can get the help trained to the 
efficiency necessary for successful business from the 
start. It will not interfere with his school duties and 
will be beneficial to him in his present battered, run-down 
condition; it will be splendid training for him while he 
is young. 

“This will be a flattering business if we keep well and 
can keep it going as I know we can. 

“The chicken and egg proposition is a huge business 
within itself. The food for both cattle and chickens 
(hence the families) is raised on the place and you and 
Bob can make it as prosperous as you like. We had 
thought of turning that part of the business over to you. 
I will look after the truck and cattle and all heavy outside 
work. 

“We are to pay Laura a regular monthly stipend be- 



52 


Lean and Lank 


sides her prorata in profits as she has been the means of 
making all this possible for us. Her house is large—en¬ 
tirely too large for her now, so we’ve decided to let the 
head overseer— (who has a large family) —have her 
house, so he’ll be near enough for my close oversight. 
The house is some distance from my home—far enough 
so we will be free from any unnecessary or unpleasant, 
disturbing noises. My house is much smaller and is so 
much more conveniently arranged for a small family, is 
much better suited to our needs. There’s a most com¬ 
plete little bungalow, about two hundred yards from it 
which suits admirably for you, Bob—and your friend, if 
he chooses to come. That is a brief, a scattering outline 
of the plans thus far hurriedly arranged. 

“I hastened to lay these suggestions and plans before 
you, so as to give you ample time to consider every phase 
of the question before deciding. Ask me any questions 
you wish to know. The conditions are new (compara¬ 
tively so) to us all and we want to, must look at them 
from every angle before we commit ourselves too far. 

“I have a business engagement now which will keep 
me possibly several hours,—hence, I may not be able to 
see you again before morning. Do not be too hasty in 
your decision. I want you to be absolutely fair to your¬ 
self, Bob and your little friend. If you can see your way 
clear to accept this complete change just now, I think 
you will find it pleasant and to your profit. The place is 
only twenty miles out, as you doubtless know, just a few 
minutes’ drive in. 

“I must be going now or I’ll be marked late, late. Good 
bye, I will see you in the morning not later than 8:30 or 
9:00 as I must be back home before 6:00. I will have 
lots and lots of red tape to unwind and wind regardless of 
how you decide”—and taking his hat from the table upon 
which he had placed it when he entered the room, he hur¬ 
riedly left. 

Mrs. Bishop was bewildered with bright prospects for 
a happy future for her and her boy. She and Bob at 
once began to discuss the problems,—which, to Mrs. 



Lean and Lank 


53 


Bishop’s amazement, were much larger than she had at 
first thought, as huge and wonderful as they were. She 
found Bob remarkably level headed for his age and dis¬ 
cussed. each phase of the question with a clarity of 
precision which delighted her already happy heart. He 
showed her wonderful avenues of opportunity that would 
naturally open up before them as they passed in his 
mind’s eye down the vista of years. 

They knew this brother and uncle was entirely trust¬ 
worthy; capable, competent and able to accomplish any 
work he saw fit to undertake. He had been their help 
several times in their extremities, in fact his help had 
been marvelous, considering the difficulties under which 
he had labored, the heavy burdens and crosses he had 
borne since reaching man’s estate. For the past ten years 
he had been forced to live in California where he had lost 
his entire family—a wife and five children and his small 
estate. How he had managed, no one was able to see, ex¬ 
cept that his every act was open and above board. And 
now he had come home to begin life over again and he 
seemed in such wonderful spirits. Seeming physically and 
mentally, fit to conquer the world—certainly his world. 

Mrs. Bishop had fully made up her mind to accept her 
brother’s propositions. She felt she certainly could do 
no worse than she was now doing—she was sure she saw 
bright prospects for better times for her and her boy. 

It was the last of the month. It was time to renew 
rent notes and make arrangements for another year. She 
banished these from her mind. She felt confident she 
would never again have to worry about rent and rent 
notes. The relief from the burdens she had carried for 
so long showed on her face; her eyes brightened, her 
step became elastic and quick and her merry laugh rang 
through the house,—an unheard of sound in the home. 

It had been a hard, bitter fight for the young mother 
left with a small son and but little of the world’s goods. 

Mr. Bishop had been a hard working young mechanic. 
They were only just beginning to get their heads above 
water. They had paid the second installment on a neat, 



54 


Lean and Lank 


new home; he was on his way to make a third payment 
—had stopped in a physician's office to have the neces¬ 
sary examination for an increased life insurance policy, 
when a stray bullet from a rowdy, drunken crowd at a 
corner grocery struck him. He lingered for six weeks, 
then passed away leaving the young mother and baby. 
The little savings,, the home, had to go to pay doctor, 
hospital and mortuary fees and to sustain them until her 
baby was old enough for her to leave to work at any¬ 
thing available. 

When Daniel came home from his work quite an ex¬ 
cited mother and son greeted him. Supper had been en¬ 
tirely forgotten—a glass of milk with wafers and a 
cruller had to satisfy. 

Daniel was mistified while the situation was being ex¬ 
plained. He did not express himself. Within his own 
mind he had persuaded himself he would decide nothing 
until he could talk with Judge Farris. 

Tumultuous, joyous plans and anticipations reveled in 
the heart and brain of the mother and son,—the only 
impediment being the non-committal attitude of Daniel. 
They wanted him to be as happy over their prospects as 
they were,—“he would have to go with them, they would 
not leave him alone." 

The following morning every one was up and about 
remarkably early though they had retired unusually late 
and slept but little. 

Daniel left for his work in a brown study, he was ex¬ 
ceedingly quiet and not a little bothered, for he knew not 
what he would do without his friends — without “his 
buddy," “his pal"—his home. Yet he had definitely 
decided he would abide by Judge Farris' decision. 

As he neared his place of business he inwardly prayed 
that the Judge would come by. If he did not, he would 
be forced to go by his home—a thing he disliked to do 
under the circumstance. He could not decide this ques¬ 
tion alone which involved so much in his young life. 

The minutes seemed hours as he sat waiting for cus- 



Lean and Lank 


55 


tomers. He was about to give up hopes of seeing the 
Judge and began making preparations to go to his office 
or home, when the object of his thoughts gently tapped 
him on the shoulder saying: '‘Moving to another corner, 
Daniel?” 

“No, sir, I was waiting for you.” 

“Waiting for me?” looking into his face, the Judge 
knew something was radically wrong with Daniel. 
“Why, my boy, what’s the matter? You seem worried? 
If I can help you in anyway speak up.” 

“Judge, it’s a long story and I would like for us to be 
in some less public place so we can talk without being 
disturbed. Let me ‘shine ’em up’ good, and we will find 
a place.” 

“I don’t need a shine so badly, do you think? We can 
go now, just around the corner to the mezzanine floor of 
the Windham Hotel and be quite private.” 

“You come first—your shine” and in silence the work 
was well done; in silence the material, with chair were 
pushed well out of the way; in silence the two went to 
the hotel. Daniel drew up two chairs—he sat facing the 
Judge and told his story. The Judge was again a pa¬ 
tient, interested, sympathetic listener. Daniel concluded 
his remarks with: “Now here is where you come in, I 
want your advice. I want to be where I can attend the 
best schools at the least expense, for,—now I know you 
will think I am clear off, presumptuous—or whatever 
that word is, but when I am a man I want to be a judge 
just like you, marry a woman just like Mrs. Farris and 
have a home just like yours.” 

The sincerity, the candor of the boy kept his remarks 
from seeming ridiculous and the Judge gravely said as 
he placed his hand upon the boy’s knee, “I thank you, my 
boy, for that compliment and sincerely hope your every 
aspiration will be fully realized and far surpassed as they 
will and must, for times are changing rapidly. I have 
many faults and shortcomings, these you must see and 
avoid. I’ve had many trials and temptations which I 
have overcome to a great degree, but not to the extent I 



56 


Lean and Lank 


could and would have had I been a stronger, better man. 
Remember this Daniel, ‘man is like a pin he will bend 
under too much pressure/ Take and use all the good you 
see in me, but shun my faults; flee from them. I know 
I seem big, prosperous, wonderfully successful to you, 
and I am reasonably so (much more than I deserve) for 
which I am humbly grateful—, but you can be bigger, 
finer, more prosperous, more wonderfully successful than 
I have been and I have not the least doubt but that you 
will be. 

“As for your wife, I can wish you no greater happiness 
or luck than that she should be as good, as satisfactory, 
as altogether wonderful and helpful to you as Mrs. Far¬ 
ris has been to me. Your home can be just what you will 
it, if you work to that end.” 

Here he paused for a while. Daniel, with questioning 
eyes, looked straight into the Judge’s down-cast, thought¬ 
ful face. 

“Daniel, if you want to be where you can get the best 
educationally, this is the place for you, and I again offer 
you a home with Mrs. Farris and me. She and I will be 
delighted to have you and we will do all we can to make 
your life happy; to make you a useful, a worthy citizen. 
We will be glad to help you take advantage of every op¬ 
portunity presented you. Don’t let the question of a 
home bother you,—ours is open to you. Your friends 
will be near enough for you to keep in close touch with 
them, they with you, so you need not give up your love 
for and interest in them. On the contrary you doubtless 
will be in a position some day to help them more if you 
remain here and apply yourself, than you could were you 
to go with them to the country. I think the offer they have 
is marvelous, and to include you in it is thoughtful good¬ 
ness itself. I am truly glad for them. I think there are 
the makings of a fine, splendid man in Lank. I think he 
has a noble mother, and a good mother is the most won¬ 
derful institution in this world; but if it is schooling, 
educational advantages you most desire,, then stay here, 



Lean and Lank 


57 


you can find no better advantages along that line than 
right where you are.” 

To the Judge’s utter surprise, Daniel was crying; his 
low bent head did not hide the rain of tears. Very gent¬ 
ly the Judge continued: 

“The love and respect you have for Lank and his 
mother are very sincere and beautiful, not one atom 
would I lessen those feelings, if I were you. I am sure 
they entertain the same feelings for you. Gratitude, 
sincerity, love and respect are the most beautiful at¬ 
tributes on earth today—cling to them, my boy, cling to 
them. 'Grapple them to your heart as with hoops of 
steel’ and whether you ever have another thing to 
brighten your life or make the world a happier, better 
place for you to live in—that will be the beacon light 
which will never be dimmed through time or eternity.” 

Smiling through his tears, of which he was not now 
ashamed, Daniel said, as the Judge paused: “Judge, I 
would never leave them if they stayed here, nor would I 
leave them if they were going far off where I could not 
see them often. At least I can know they are near. But 
I believe things will change up for them when they live 
in a new place and I could not love another home with 
them as I love ours now. As I do want an education 
more than anything on earth. I reckon I had better stay 
here. But Judge, I can not live at your home; how far 
would five hundred or a thousand dollars go in paying 
my expenses!” 

Appreciating the delicate feelings of the boy the Judge 
offered: 

“Why can’t you borrow from me as other men do, pay¬ 
ing me back as you are able?” 

“Can I do that and will that be satisfactory to you and 
Mrs. Farris? Can and will you trust me for that long? 
You know it will be a long, long time before I will be 
making even a living. But if you will let me come un¬ 
der, oh, I can’t think of that big word, but if you will 
let me come that way, I promise I will pay you every 
cent with interest and I will be so glad and happy. Oh, I 



58 


Lean and Lank 


do so want to do just that!” Looking quickly up into his 
companion’s face for his answer, the Judge sedately 
said: 

“Certainly I will trust you. Certainly I can wait on 
you until you can pay me back. The only difficulty I now 
see with you, Daniel, is you putting off beginning to pay 
until you are grown. Why can’t you begin as soon as 
you come to us? It will be lots easier and more satis¬ 
factory than having such a large sum banked up 
against you.” 

“Sure I would like to begin at once, but look how little 
I make, only a dollar a day sometimes, except on your 
days,” the alluring curl took possession of his mouth, 
“and that wouldn’t even start it.” 

“A dollar a day! why how much do you think you are 
going to use? Of course, your first expenses are going 
to be right heavy—getting clothing, shoes, school sup¬ 
plies, et cetera, but after that I should think it would be 
easy sailing. Suppose you accept a job I can offer you 
which will pay more than your present one and you can 
be out of the weather, can select the best, most convenient 
times to do the work; however, the work is much harder 
and will keep all your spare time pretty well taken up.” 

“I don’t mind hard work, I’d love it and I will do any¬ 
thing you want me to do or think I can do. What is 
the job?” 

“Couldn’t we discuss that at lunch, do you know it is 
one o’clock?” 

“0, sir, I do not bring money with me mornings and 
I have made but little this morning. I will wait for you 
here or anywhere you say, unless you can tell me before 
we go. I do not wish to keep you waiting though.” 

“Well, if I stay and tell you of the job you will have to 
go lunch with me. Is it a trade?” 

After a short pause Daniel looked up with the expres¬ 
sion of one knowing he was being tricked, but pleasing¬ 
ly said: “You got me that time, Judge, guess we can 
trade.” 

“All right, here goes. Our lawn has to be mown once 



Lean and Lank 


59 


a week; the flowers, shrubbery, vines have to be pruned 
and trained; a few choice fruit trees need careful atten¬ 
tion. I have to pay some one to do it and I had just as 
soon—rather—pay you than any one I know. If it is 
done right, as I will expect you to do it, it is a man's job, 
and I will pay you as I would any one else." 

Daniel was visibly, woefully disappointed. “Judge, 
I would do that, expect to do that for nothing. I would 
be glad to. I thought you meant a sure enough job." 

“Don't you consider that a 'sure enough’ job? If you 
do not now you will, for it is one—a big one. I do not 
work for nothing—I want to be, must be paid well for 
my services. I demand it or I do not do the work. Every 
man should be able to ‘deliver the goods,' be able to do 
the work he puts himself in line to do, and do it well— 
then receive his pay; demand it. If they all would, the 
world and the inhabitants thereof would be better off. 
Crimes would become less; anarchy fade away; strife and 
dissention cease to a marked degree; strikes become his¬ 
tory. It's my impression that most working men—the 
laborer, is uneducated, unskilled, inefficient; slights his 
work, kills time. The employer is held, must be held, 
responsible for shoddy work; he refuses to pay until 
work is done according to agreement — the workman 
claims underpay; hence, neglected work. Some paymas¬ 
ters are inefficient, I grant, some are “hard-boiled," seem 
almost soulless and unfeeling; but, the cases that have 
come under my jurisdiction and observation have, in the 
majority of incidents, been forced to use the means em¬ 
ployed—extreme measures have to be used or the fabric 
which holds the commercial world in balance would be 
torn assunder. Hence, my advice to you, my son,—no 
matter what work you choose, whether laborer, profes¬ 
sional, diplomatic or what not—(one is as good, respect¬ 
able, honorable as the other, depending entirely on how 
the work is done )—know your line and do it better than 
any one else; then claim the reward such services demand. 

“Now back to our main topic. The little jobs about the 



60 


Lean and Lank 


house such as feeding the chickens, canaries, fish, my 
bird dogs, things like that—that’s different—you will 
then be as our son—see?” 

“Yes, sir, I think I understand and I will do my very 
best to please you and Mrs. Farris.” 

“Well, as that’s all satisfactorily settled, we can eat, 
can’t we?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

As they reached the avenue Judge Farris asked: 
“When is this change to take place—when are the 
Bishops leaving? When can you come to our home?” 

“Right away, I think. At least that’s the way it 
sounded to me. It is the first of the month and new ar¬ 
rangements must be made about rent and other bills, 
Mrs. Bishop said.” 

“So much the better, so much better for, you see, school 
begins within the next few days and you want to be 
straightened out, get your bearings, understand? And 
let Mrs. Farris or me better perhaps, help you get your 
wardrobe ready for school.” 

Such talk, produced such glorious thoughts. Daniel 
was too happy on his own personal account, too miserable 
at the thought of being separated from his friends, to 
desire food. Think of a wardrobe for himself, he had 
never heard of the expression before! Think of going 
to day-school and with everything that is necessary for 
the best work! He could not eat. 

The Judge fully appreciated the situation. But he had 
gleaned from the boy’s conversation that there had been 
a very light supper,—he was sure breakfast had been 
equally as light, so he steered the boy’s thoughts into 
another channel while waiting to be served and was 
rewarded by seeing the food heartily, almost uncon¬ 
sciously disappear as they talked,— 

“As both you boys are getting big I think it would be 
fine for you to call each other by your names. In fact 
Lank has grown out of his name, he is certainly lank no 
longer—he has developed into a fine looking, well propor¬ 
tioned youth. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone 



Lean and Lank 


61 


develop as fast nor as satisfactorily as he, and I am go¬ 
ing to see to it that you outgrow your pseudonym Lean; 
so let’s begin now with Robert and Daniel or Bob and 
Dan—either are fine—personally I like short names, 
Bob and Dan, sound splendid; but ‘Daniel,’ you know, 
means ‘divine Judge’—so if you are to be a judge you 
had better be a good one and stay Daniel—how about 
it ?” He glanced interrogatively at the boy who was both 
pleased, interested and amused, as he answered. 

“As you wish, sir. I am sure that will suit Mrs. Bishop 
for she never did like calling Robert, Lank, though she 
did it sometimes. It won’t make any difference to Robert 
and me, though I have always loved to hear you say 
Daniel—Mrs. Farris, too.” 

As the meal drew to a close Daniel turned the menu 
card so he could scan it. Noticing the movement, though 
so slight, Judge Farris asked if there was anything else 
he would like. 

“O, no, sir, I don’t remember ever eating so much at 
one time in my whole life,—it was all so good and I 
thank you ever so much.” Looking up he saw the Judge 
had seen him scanning the card, embarrassed he con¬ 
tinued very hesitatingly. “I—I—was looking to see what 
they charge for sandwiches.” 

“What kind of sandwiches do you want, Daniel?” 

“0, none for myself, I have already eaten too much. I 
—I was thinking of Lan ... of Robert and Mrs. 
Bishop ...” 

“Did you get the prices?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well, let’s see! ‘Fifteen cents each for ham and 
egg and chicken salad,—twenty-five cents, large club— 
15 cents each, cheese and pimento and tomato with break¬ 
fast bacon.’ Which do they like best?” 

Daniel’s face burned red, his eyes misted—“Robert 
likes club. I don’t know which Mrs. Bishop likes best 
...” and the fifteen cents in the tobacco sack in Daniel’s 
pocket were as leaves—how inadequate for his heart’s 
desire, though small! 



62 


Lean and Lank 


“Suppose we get two of each, then they can select 
what they want.—Here boy! Bring us a couple each of 
these sandwiches, wrapped separately and in a neat 
package, a small box is all right. We want to take them 
with us.” 

Daniel swallowed hard, folded and refolded his nap¬ 
kin, finally placed it in a badly crumpled state near his 
plate as he said in low, grateful voice, “Thank you, 
—Judge, I’ll pay you back some day.” 

Completely ignoring the remark the Judge talked on 
as though just completing a sentence. “Daniel, if you 
are to have your job with me I want you to begin right 
away, say not later than Monday. This being Friday 
the 27th, no, let’s see, this month has thirty-one days, 
making the first come on Tuesday. Let’s say Tuesday 
then, you move in Monday. We can dispose of your 
shoe-shine apparatus now. Let’s begin at the bottom and 
work up. . . In the meantime come in here to this 
desk and sign this paper. I was about to forget the 
prime reason for my call on you this morning. Here is 
your thousand dollars. 

“Judge—can—will—you sign it for me? I do not be¬ 
lieve I can write—my—name.” 

“0, yes, you can, that’s all right, sign right on this 
line. It would be forgery if I did it and you wouldn’t 
want that, besides it wouldn’t work, see?” 

The name was legibly written while Daniel was ex¬ 
periencing the most peculiar sensations imaginable. No 
king on his throne, no potentate was ever richer, prouder, 
more grateful, more humble,—happiness unalloyed was 
his fate as his pale, trembling long hand received the 
paper from his friend, his benefactor. Never had the 
Judge spent a happier, more satisfying hour. 

“The first thing a man does, or should do, when he 
changes his place of business, Daniel, is to leave his 
place clean, his name free from debt; pay his respects 
to and bid good bye those with whom he has been as¬ 
sociated, wishing them good health and good luck. That 



Lean and Lank 


63 


is what you and Robert should do. Now suppose we take 
them this lunch and . . . Have they milk ?” 

“I think so.” 

“Well, to be safe we had better go by this cafe and see 
if we can get some, then we’ll drive out, take it to them 
and after they eat, bring Robert back with us so we can 
dispose of the shoe-shines, and finish up down here. We 
don’t want business to lag. I must stop by my office 
enroute to see how things are moving along and to give 
some orders, it will only detain me a few minutes.” 

The Judge occupied “the few minutes” in calling up a 
junk dealer, making arrangements with him to take the 
“shoe-shines”; told him just how he wished the business 
part of it “pulled off,”—“accede to every proposition I 
make and I will settle the account with you later;” and 
in having a fruit dealer fix up a nice basket of fruit, 
which he deposited on the floor of the car with the lunch. 
Taking the wheel they slowly drove off. 

Daniel was dazed, not one word could he utter. Un¬ 
comfortably stiff he sat until the house was in view, then 
his hands went through the washing movement, his eyes 
flashing. The irresistible smile overspread his features, 
as his face began to crimson. 

The Judge drove close to the curbing, he ordered 
Daniel to bring the lunch as he took the basket of fruit 
putting the milk in it. 

“What wonderful fruit, what a beautiful picture! Oh, 
Judge Farris,—and sandwiches and milk! How thought¬ 
ful of you! How can I ever thank you! Good fortune 
has been heaped upon us in such undreamed of propor¬ 
tions and in so many ways in the last twenty-four hours, 
I am beside myself, don’t know what to say or do,” the 
voice and eyes mellow with tears. 

Mrs. Bishop had appeared old, at least in middle life 
to the Judge until now. When she looked into his face 
with grateful eyes, shining with unshed tears, her lips 
aquiver, he could picture a beautiful young woman be¬ 
fore sorrow, responsibility and care had transformed the 




64 


Lean and Lank 


face and body into the tragedy of premature age and 
suffering. 

“You have Daniel to thank, Mrs. Bishop, for this 
thoughtfulness. We were coming out on a little busi¬ 
ness and brought these along to save time,” he smiled. 
“I understand you have had a splendid opportunity of¬ 
fered you and I believe you have accepted — I con¬ 
gratulate you and Robert.” Robert glanced up quickly as 
the Judge pronounced his name. 

“Daniel is going to dispose of his shoe-shine business 
and thought Robert would like to do the same. If he 
does we will take him with us.” Turning around he 
looked first at Robert then at Daniel and continued, 
“Daniel, shall I tell Mrs. Bishop and Robert of your con¬ 
templated change?” 

“Please, sir,” pleaded Daniel as he dropped his head, 
took his cap from a chair and placing it for Mrs. Bishop, 
another for the Judge, sauntered to the window and stood 
looking out. 

“Suppose you bring that table, Robert, get a couple of 
glasses and plates so you and your mother can eat your 
lunch while I explain. Daniel and I have the advantage, 
we’ve had our dinner.” 

Daniel brought the two glasses and plates, while 
Robert placed the table and a chair for himself. They 
enjoyed the meal, using a bunch of lovely grapes for 
desert, while Judge Farris told earnestly of Daniel’s 
prospects. 

Robert was torn between pleasure and pain. His 
prospects for being with and seeing Daniel often were 
good which ameliorated the situation considerably. 

When the meal was finished, the Judge took the boys 
to the junk dealer who, after some dickering on the part 
of the boys, made a bid for the paraphernalia which the 
Judge rejected and had him raise the bid, which was ac¬ 
cepted. When the money was handed over,—the most 
real money the boys had ever held at one time, they 
thanked both men, pocketed their money as they looked 



Lean and Lank 


65 


each other straight in the eye, a curious, undefinable 
smile playing round the corners of each mouth. 

“Well, boys, does this end our business for today? Or, 
is there anything further we ought to do, after you see 
your friends and pay up any indebtedness? I really think 
we have done a big day’s work—a great job. We can’t tell 
how great until the end of time, for both your lives will 
be materially changed by this move.” Consulting his 
watch he continued: “If there is nothing more we can 
do I am going to leave you boys, as I have an engage¬ 
ment at 3:30, another at 4:00. I’ll have time to drive 
you home now if you wish to go.” 

The boys looked at each other, then at the Judge as 
Daniel said: “Judge, I have never been so happy in all 
my life. I can’t stand to be this happy much longer. 
It is best for us—for me—to walk home—walk and 
walk for me to get straight. I thank you. Maybe I 
will be able to tell or show you sometime, how I do thank 
you. We owe no money, do we, Bob?” To which Bob, 
with grateful thanks replied in the negative, continu¬ 
ing: “I, too, Judge Farris. The past thirty-six hours 
have been great for me. I appreciate what you have 
done for Lea . . , Daniel, mother and me. Thank you, 
sir, and good bye,” and both boys raised their caps re¬ 
spectfully as the Judge smiled, raised his hat in recogni¬ 
tion of their courtesy and hurriedly walked away. He 
knew the boys would live a thousand transcending years 
in the next few hours. He could imagine the joyful feel¬ 
ing of Robert, as he looked inquiringly, wonderingly, in¬ 
terested, as Daniel pulled the strip of paper from his 
pocket which made him a millionaire. He could see them 
as they took the money from their pockets and counted 
it; Robert’s pile being somewhat larger (the Judge had 
willed it so) and Daniel was glad—Robert had been so 
worried and for so long. 

No happier boys could have been found than these two, 
who had done everything the Judge had recommended 
them doing, then went slowly, but straight home, where 
they found the lady whose car had knocked Robert down, 



66 


Lean and Lank 


with the physician who had dressed his wounds, waiting 
for them. 

Mrs. Winthrop was graciousness itself. The doctor 
affable, gentle and kind. He took Robert to another part 
of the house and began talking in low voice as he looked 
over and redressed the wounds. “These are healing nice¬ 
ly, are almost entirely well. The arm can come from the 
plaster, but must still be tightly bandaged and well cared 
for.” 

Then in lower voice: “Mrs. Winthrop wants to re¬ 
munerate you some way, young man, for the suffering, 
pain, and deprivation she has caused you and asked me 
to ask that you accept this check from her and Mr. 
Winthrop. She is a most excellent woman—is quite 
wealthy, and I think—I am sure—she will feel very hurt, 
if you do not accept it. It will take some of the feeling 
of responsibility for the accident away from her if you 
will. She likes you and it will actually be doing her a 
great favor if you will accept it.” 

“It was purely an accident, doctor, she was no more 
responsible for it than I was, I don’t believe, and it is 
not right for me to take her money especially as she and 
Mr. Winthrop have paid all doctor and medical fees— 
they have done their part.” 

“That may all be true, but you got hurt, you suffered, 
you were kept from your work and in these days of the 
high cost of living that means much. She feels that way 
about it and I advise that you take the check for her 
peace of mind and conscience.” 

“I don’t think it right to take it; however, let me talk 
with my mother a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” The 
doctor busied himself with his surgical dressings and 
bag the few moments Robert was gone. “Mother feels 
about it as I do, doctor, we can’t accept the check. It is 
true I could not work and that put us up against it some¬ 
what, but we pulled through all right, for which we are 
very grateful, you don’t know how grateful. I truly ap¬ 
preciate and thank you for what you’ve done for me; 
you made a good job of my arm, for it’s straight and is 



Lean and Lank 


67 


as good as new except very weak. Mother and I ap¬ 
preciate and thank the Winthrops for their interest and 
help; tell them how very much, please.” 

They walked toward Mrs. Winthrop and Mrs. Bishop. 
Mrs. Winthrop arose as the doctor made ready to go. 
Robert spoke with her, thanked her for her exceeding 
kind thoughtfulness; but her check, he could not accept, 
did not think it would be right, as she was no more re¬ 
sponsible for the accident than he, and she and Mr. 
Winthrop had done their full part in paying the expenses 
made necessary by the accident. 

Mrs. Winthrop’s estimate of merit was enhanced as 
she understood the situation, saw how hard and close 
they must live and harder still on account of Robert’s in¬ 
ability to work. She wished him to accept the check, 
nevertheless she thought a hundred per cent, more of 
him and his mother for refusing it. She showed her ad¬ 
miration in the charming glow of her pretty uplifted 
face, also her disappointment in not being able to help, 
and as a last resort she said: '‘Won’t you take it,, if only 
the next hour you put it to some charitable fund?” 

Robert immediately held out his hand and took the 
check, much to his mother’s consternation, stood before 
the doctor and said: 

“Doctor, there’s a little blind boy living down the way 
about two blocks. He and his mother, the entire family, 
have been sick. They are too poor to have a doctor regu¬ 
larly or the right kind of food or attention; will you 
promise me and Mrs. Winthrop you will go to see that 
family and furnish them with the right kind of medicine 
and put a nurse there and keep one there, as long as this 
money lasts?” 

“I certainly will, young man. I’ll go you one better. 
I will continue to treat them and furnish proper drugs 
until every last one of the sick is well, if this money 
doesn’t hold out long enough. My services will be free. 
Is that satisfactory?” 

“Yes, sir, perfectly,” spoke Robert and Mrs. Winthrop 
in unison. 



68 


Lean and Lank 


“We will make our first call now if you will go with 
me to show me the place. ,, 

“Sure. Want to go, Dan?” 

“No, I believe not, this time.” 

“Will you go with us, Mrs. Winthrop or shall you wait 
here?” 

“I believe I will go, doctor.” 

While the trio was gone, Daniel showed Mrs. Bishop 
his “thousand dollar slip” and the money he had gotten 
for his “business,” telling very interestingly about the 
whole transaction, the while Mrs. Bishop’s soul rejoiced. 
Putting a hand upon his sleek, brown head, she reverent¬ 
ly said: “Daniel, we have much for which to praise and 
thank our God, and we do praise ‘Him from whom all 
blessings flow,’ don’t we? I have not been so supremely 
blest and joyous since Robert’s father’s lifetime. I have 
been tried by the taunting finger of poverty, at times,— 
not being able to see where the next meal was coming 
from for my baby and me and too ill to move, until often 
I was almost desperate;—on the very verge of commit¬ 
ting a deed which my distracted brain would suggest, and 
I surely would have put an end to our suffering had I 
not known that I should never be forgiven, that I would 
no doubt have to suffer worse in the hereafter than I was 
then suffering; ‘thus, conscience made a coward of me, 
not too great a coward to commit the deed’—no, no, but 
too great a coward to endure worse agony, pain and dis¬ 
tress than I was then enduring. At such times I would 
repeat with Abraham Lincoln, ‘this too will pass.’ I 
loved to think of that, for I knew that great and good 
man had been as poor, doubtless had suffered as much as 
I. It has passed. Don’t lose hope of something better, 
though in an ocean of despair, when vast expanses of 
nothing surround you. Keep hoping, it will keep you 
living and moving somehow,—Daniel, don’t ever give up, 
don’t ever lose your hold on Almighty God ...” 

When Robert came in he found his mother, one arm en¬ 
circling Daniel, their heads bowed upon a table weeping. 



Lean and Lank 


69 


The little home was scrupulously clean and neat as was 
Mrs. Bishop. How fresh, young and charming she look¬ 
ed in a new, well-fitting house dress! How Daniel loved 
and admired her, as far as he knew to admire and love! 
How pretty he thought she was! And he had never 
even known how she looked before or how she was 
dressed. 

It was their last meal together in their little home. 
And as it was the last, each felt instinctively how very 
happy they had been, those three, all alone without money, 
pomp, position—just struggling together each day for 
food, shelter, raiment,—holding hands as it were, as 
they struggled up the hill together. They were con¬ 
sciously sure, though without knowledge, that they had 
done the very best they could; had no regrets; were con¬ 
tentedly happy. 

Each, also instinctively felt that they had reached the 
top, or were reaching the top and could enjoy the full 
sunshine of prosperity and contentment, holding each 
others hand now for the sheer joy of living. 


CHAPTER X 

Sitting alone in a suite of handsome rooms a tall, 
strong man (whose shoulders were slightly bent, hair 
perfectly white) was dreaming,—a habit that had grown 
to be second nature with him. His head was thrown far 
back against the soft cushioned back of his Morris chair, 
his feet upon the rack, the light turned and shaded so as 
to shine but dimly upon his face. From eyes that were 
closed a tear would flicker occasionally and roll down the 
lapel of his silk smoking jacket and on to splash upon 
the velvet rug at his feet. Each anniversary of his mar¬ 
riage, the birth of his baby boy, and the tragedy which 
robbed him of both, were marked by days of deep 
melancholy. How he had lived and kept his reason 
through all the intervening years he could not under¬ 
stand. The only link that held him stable upon the earth 




70 


Lean and Lank 


was an exceedingly weak one, growing weaker and 
weaker with each anniversary. Tonight he was writing 
in his diary, as he did three times each year! “Still no 
tidings from you, my son, who this day have reached 
man’s estate—I still hope—still have faith that you will 
some day come to me.” 

Being the twenty-first birthday of his son, the reflec¬ 
tions were deeper and longer—the reminiscences more 
diverse than in years — the depression and melancholy 
more pronounced. 

Always alone on these occasions he often-times ad¬ 
dressed his objects of thought aloud. 

“Yes, you are twenty-one today, my son, a man in 
your own right and I do so wonder where you are; what 
you are; who you are; what doing! 

“You were too young to have taken any part in that 

terrible World War-” an expression of mingled 

doubt and pain passed over his face,—“yet being a Fos¬ 
ter I don’t know. I do not doubt but that you tried every 
way to be implicated for—” and here his expression 
changed to one of quiet pleasure softening the coun¬ 
tenance grown almost majestic by continual, patient suf¬ 
fering, disappointment and continued hope. His smile 
was superficially happy as he delved far back into his 
past—his childhood—as he recalled stories of that other 
war. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know—for I do know much of 
your grandfather’s and your grandmother’s Southern 
blood courses through your veins! Why, who could have 
been more patriotic, more virulent than the grand¬ 
mothers ! 

“My father, your grandfather. That grand man! Ha, 
ha! he would never wear blue,—blue suits, blue hats, blue 
ties, blue socks, handkerchiefs with blue borders were 
completely ignored by him—they were taboo—not the 
right color by any manner of means. I remember how 
peculiar I felt the first time I heard him say, The 
Creator knew what He was about when He gave me dark 




Lean and Lank 


71 


grey eyes, for He knew I could never have seen anything 
but red from blue ones.' 

“ 'I know the great majority of those who wore the 
blue of “the sixties” had not seen, had not understood. 
They had been misinformed, for, had they known any¬ 
thing at all they would have known that slavery was 
not, could not have been the cause of that very uncivil, 
uncalled for war in the face of the multiplied living 
facts. 

“ ‘It is true that the great majority had that slavery 
doctrine preached to them continuously by those who 
were supposed to have been in a position to know, by 
those whose sacred duty it was to know,—to have been 
correctly informed as to the casus belli. 

“ ‘The superiors knew—those who wanted the war,— 
that the sympathies of man are more quickly aroused to 
protect the down-trodden, the beaten, the driven, starved, 
neglected, maltreated, and will cause more drastic, deter¬ 
mined action than for most any other cause. 

“ ‘The great majority could not see, of course, that 
those they were “to free” were already being freed in the 
best, the right, the ligitimate way. They did not know 
that many masters had given freedom to their every 
slave; that others were fast following their example; that 
eventually all would have been set free without the 
slightest breach in the brotherhood of man, without 
shedding one drop of blood. In some instances, discipline, 
—possibly harsh measures would have been resorted to 
as has ever been the rule in every great revolution, but 
it would have been neighbor with neighbor, friend with 
friend. 

“ ‘The great majority did not know that the men, 
women and children of that “down-trodden, oppressed 
race” were stronger men, women and children physically, 
mentally,, morally and spiritually than they have ever 
been in any period of their known history—the present 
not excepted. 

“ ‘They did not know they were better housed, better 
fed, better clothed, better cared for physically than they 



72 


Lean and Lank 


are today. Of course, there were exceptions—as there 
are always exceptions to every rule. There were some 
hard, unjust, mean, domineering, brutal masters and mis¬ 
tresses—some cruel and oppressive. There were some 
lazy, obstreperous, disloyal, disobedient, entirely untrust¬ 
worthy slaves, good for nothing but to make trouble for 
both slave and owner. They are the ones who followed 
the carpet-bagger—the rapacious kind—the descendents 
of which fill our jails and penitentiaries today. 

“ Tn “the sixties” every negro man, and woman, yea, 
almost every child knew the value of time and labor and 
could do some worth-while work capable of making a 
splendid living. The men did mechanical work as good 
as the best; plows, buggies, wagons, harness, saddles, 
shoes were mended; horses and mules shod; ax and hoe- 
handles, single-trees and plow-shares made; fences, sheds 
and houses built. Yea, many of the out-houses and sheds 
built in those days are still standing defying time with 
much greater success than some of the present day. And 
haven't we,—are we not still using an old coffee mill 
made of scrap iron, fastened to a solid oak stand, the 
hand-work of old Carey, our “carriage boy”? It is an 
ornament in the kitchen—a work of art, no better—not 
as good, can be had at any price today. 

“ ‘No cook has ever surpassed the good old Southern 
negress. Her dishes are world famous. 

“ ‘The women made feather beds and pillows, mat¬ 
tresses, quilts, counterpanes. Don't we still sleep upon the 
pillows and beds, under the quilts and “spreads” made by 
those capable black hands under the supervision and 
direction of white heads? 

“ ‘They could card, weave and sew. 

“ ‘All knew how to kill, carve and cure meats; how to 
preserve fruits and vegetables and make wines. 

“ ‘All could sing—My, how they could sing! Those old 
spiritual songs have never been surpassed, can never be 
duplicated for fineness of spirit, rhythm and the sweet¬ 
ness of melodious sounds. I can hear to this good day 
a crowd at the barn singing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot, 



Lean and Lank 


73 


Happy Land” and many others as their swaying bodies 
and busy hands kept time to the music as they shelled 
corn, rainy days, for Saturday’s mill going to have meal 
and hominy ground;—some of the best corn being set 
aside for Aunt Cindy’s lye-hominy;—the ‘‘nubbins” put 
in a large box or barrels for the hogs. Or they were 
thrashing peas, picking peanuts or sorting potatoes. 
While in the “big house” Mammy was crooning By-lo- 
Baby-Bunting to sleepy eyes or in higher pitch singing 
“Aunt Dinah’s Quilting Party” as she watched the “boil¬ 
ing pot,” felt the sweet potatoes to see if they “was just 
right,” brewing the appetite-provoking coffee which sent 
its delightful aromas to every part of the house, even the 
yard—sweet odors which had been implanted in the ber¬ 
ries in the coffee fields and under the blazing suns of 
their native Africa, which berries after being washed, 
dried, parched were “medium ground” in Uncle Carey’s 
mill and boiled in the water of the pure springs of their 
adopted Southland. 

“ ‘The great majority did not know, could not see the 
free slaves, as they, like faithful watch-dogs around the 
house, wanting to sleep across the front doorsteps (which 
was not allowed) to protect “Old Marster’s” family from 
all harm and danger when the “men-folks” were away for 
the night,—while they were away fighting and killing 
those who were fighting and killing them in return in 
order to free them—the slaves, if you please. 

“ ‘There has been love no truer, stronger, more faith¬ 
ful, more enduring, more patient, more tolerant, more 
abiding,, more lasting, more glorious, more profitable 
than the love of Marsters and Missuses for Mammies, 
Uncle Ebens, Aunt Hannahs, Dinahs and Cheenas and 
vice versa—.’ ” 

“God so loved the world—God is love.” 

Then to his original object of address he continued as 
if he had not digressed— 

“I hope not, oh, I hope not! It would have put a scar, 
a blemish upon your young life which time could never 
have removed. 



74 


Lean and Lank 


“The memories of such horrors as those boys experi¬ 
enced were too harrowing, too horrifying to be thrown 
off easily—too gruesomely gloomy for them to ever be 
free again from knowledge of anguish, misery, lonesome¬ 
ness, home-sickness, suffering, agony—hell—! 

“I doubt not that hundreds of the poor, brave fellows 
lost their reason, became raving maniacs from no other 
cause but from anguishing sympathetic suffering for 
their unfortunate stricken buddies whom they were 
powerless to succor. 

“Never can they close their eyes tight enough—never 
can they become so blind as to keep from seeing up¬ 
heavals of earth as volcanoes boiling over, as convulsions 
of mighty earthquakes, as they saw nature and man torn 
by shell, shrapnel, grape, canister, cannon. See the moun¬ 
tains of smoke and dust clear away leaving in their wake 
fallen heroes, mangled and torn masses of human flesh, 
the appealing eyes in their last glassy stare; the dying 
convulsion of the flesh as it quivered its last feeble effort 
to cling to the soul ready to wing its flight to realms 
unknown. 

“Never can they stop their ears or become so deaf that 
they can not hear the bursting shells, the roar of can¬ 
non, the whirr of grape; the heavy craunch-craunch of 
the tank in its crushing, destroying march; the con¬ 
tinuous roaring-buzz-buzz, whirr-whirr of flying ma¬ 
chines ; the never ending pop - pop, bang - bang of in¬ 
numerable firearms. They will ever hear the groans, dy¬ 
ing dilirium; the prayers, the pleadings of their brothers 
in arms. 

“Never can their souls become so dead as to forget 
how they wondered as they beheld: Is he ready to go? 
How will it be with his soul? Who will suffer because 
of his passing? Will little children be orphaned? Will 
the hearts of two women break — his wife’s and his 
mother’s—his mother’s and his affianced bride’s? Or is 
he all alone in the world—does no one care ? 

“No, never, never can they forget! My son, oh, my 



Lean and Lank 


75 


son! I hope you have been, will ever be spared such 
awakenings!” 

For eighteen years Daniel Benson Foster II, banker 
and realtor, of much financial strength and power,, had 
lived in hopes of finding Daniel Benson Foster III. 

Three times a year, for eighteen years, panoramic 
visions of five years of wedded bliss passed through his 
brain as he dreamed and smoked, smoked and dreamed. 
The last chapter so sweet, so wonderfully wonderful, to 
terminate in a nightmare of such hideous blackness— 
such horror—! Would it never end! 

In sweet retrospection he saw his wife making the 
necessary preparation for an intimate, lengthy visit to 
her parents who lived in a distant state. How delicately 
beautiful, how sweet she looked in her helplessness. What 
admiration and love he felt for her as he helped her up 
the steps of the waiting train and turned to lift his boy 
beside her, following quickly with their hand luggage. 
How strangely attractive their three-year-old boy. His 
brown eyes flashing at every new object and scene or 
squinting with laughter, as his lips would curl in an 
adorable smile lighting up his baby face, when a pas¬ 
senger here and there would speak to him or pat him 
on the head in passing. How paternally proud he was 
of his little family. Yet, the feeling of awe and fearful 
apprehension every true man experiences for the wife 
unwell, filled his heart. 

The tears would fall as he recalled how sweetly re¬ 
sponsive she was to his every effort to make the trip as 
comfortable and pleasant as possible. How inquisitive 
and restless the boy had been on this his first real ride on 
the train. Then he remembered how he and the boy had 
gone for water and a “peep out the door” when, lo! a 
crash! Then darkness! chaos! 

That was the first of December. Two weeks after, he 
opened his eyes in a hospital, in a strange place, among 
strangers. Making inquiry he learned the day and date. 
He asked for his wife and boy. No one had seen or heard 
of them. “What? God!” He could not move, he was in 



76 


Lean and Lank 


a plaster cast, both legs had been badly mangled. He 
asked that a message be hurried to his father. 

The father came. The information given was horrify¬ 
ing, maddening. “The wife and tiny baby girl had been 
instantly killed/’ “Wife—tiny baby girl instantly killed, 
my God!” 

Then oblivion for another fortnight, taking the com¬ 
bined efforts of doctors, nurses and attendants to keep 
the spark of life from going out in the raving man. The 
mother was sent for. She stayed with her son three 
months, until he was pronounced well enough to be car¬ 
ried home. When he was strong enough the story was 
finished— 

“Your mother and I were wired and rushed to Lucy, 
having first notified her parents requesting them to meet 
us there. Her address was found in a purse which she 
held in her hand. We put her poor crushed body, with 
the baby in the same casket and carried it to an under¬ 
taker’s parlor. Then her father and I came back to con¬ 
tinue the search for you and Baby Dan. It was dark, 
fearfully dark, and so rough and such deep cuts on each 
side of the track, and so near the river we could not get 
near enough for our cars to afford any light, only flash 
lights, lanterns and torches were available. All night 
long we searched and looked, eight other bodies had been 
recovered, crushed and mangled almost beyond identifica¬ 
tion. The wounded had been sent to a hospital, but no 
signs of you or Baby Dan. 

“We were frantic. The wreckage had caught fire, it 
burned furiously and as all others were accounted for, we 
were forced to conclude that you and Dan, Jr., were 
victims of the horrible flames. But later your hat was 
found floating in the river with one of Baby Dan’s tiny 
gloves loosely lying on the brim, mute signs of drowning, 
we thought, instead of the flames. Divers were brought, 
but no trace could be found of you or your boy. Lucy’s 
body was then taken to her home and buried. We still 
have your hat and baby’s glove, just as they were found.” 

“How did I manage to get away in this shape?” 



Lean and Lank 


77 


“I do not know, no one knows, it will ever remain a 
mystery, I reckon. The hospital authorities said you had 
been brought there on a country wagon. They had car¬ 
ried you more than twenty miles and in an exact opposite 
direction from the hospital to which the others of the 
wreck had been taken. The men who brought you said 
they found you lying in the middle of the road, they 
thought dead. You and Baby Dan must have been thrown 
clear of the wreck. You must have dragged your body to 
the cross road, some distance from the accident,—particles 
of dirt, trash, leaves and sticks clinging to your elbows, 
which were torn, and to the front of your clothing told 
that much. You were so nearly in the road the men con¬ 
cluded an automobile had knocked you down and so the 
report was sent in. 

“Months after we learned that several days after the 
accident a baby boy about two and a half or three years 
old was found wandering in the streets of a little town 
some fifty miles from the accident. He was taken in a 
home and kept several days thinking some one would 
call for him. 

“The parties finding him thought the child had wander¬ 
ed away from some tourists who had camped near the 
town, that he would soon be missed and called for; but, 
no one came, nor did they hear any inquiries. They 
finally took him to a hospital and the family asked to be 
let keep him, giving him up if anyone should call for him 
later. 

“Being a quiet, little, out of the way place and the 
people able to care for him, the request was granted. 
After it was published several days in the county paper, 
nothing more was thought of it. 

“Some months after, a friend of mine was in the little 
town, heard of the little boy and knowing of the uncer¬ 
tainty under which we lived, wired me. Without men¬ 
tioning it to a soul I went at once but found the people 
had left for parts unknown two or three months before 
and no trace of them could I find . . . ” 

From the moment of the conclusion of that story 



78 


Lean and Lank 


Daniel Benson Foster II, had an abiding faith and hope 
that his boy was living and that by some strange twist of 
human events he would some day come home to him. 
Great events are often-times produced by mere, by slight 
accidents and for eighteen years this hope had been kept 
burning in his soul, would not be quenched. His greatest 
fear was that some one had adopted him that his boy’s 
name had been changed, for the years of advertising had 
brought no response, every clue went to nought. 

After the senior Foster’s death, Daniel II learned that 
his father had been on several long trips, when he re¬ 
ceived even a slight indication of a possible find, keeping 
him in ignorance until he could verify it, for he had fer¬ 
reted out so many and found them all false. He knew 
the suspense, the anxiety and the possible, probable dis¬ 
appointment would soon end the young father’s life, or 
would drive him insane. 

Finally all ads were discontinued, hope grew fainter 
and fainter. 

Other means had been and were being employed, but 
without the least avail. The reminiscences were ever 
bitter-sweet and Daniel Benson Foster II most fully in¬ 
dulged himself at each anniversary. 


CHAPTER XI 

Years have passed. Years of honorable toil and honest 
endeavor by both Daniel Foster and Robert Bishop. 

Years of pleasure and profit and pain. 

The last months of the World War Robert was eligible 
to offer himself to his country. Daniel being under age, 
had forced himself to stop even wanting to go. 

Robert and Daniel had discussed and debated the sub¬ 
ject “war” much,—both pro and con—for and against. 
They were opposed to war—conscientiously so—but the 
conditions under which their country had entered this 
war palliated all objections. It appealed to them as be¬ 
ing a gigantic expression of charity; an overwhelmingly 




Lean and Lank 


79 


commendable spirit of brotherly-love; a wonderful ex¬ 
position of wanting to bear another’s burdens and help 
the infirmities of the weak; and an enviable disposition 
of a fearless, dauntless valor to strive to surmount a 
glowing, burning mountain of righteous indignation. 

They held Uncle Sam the benevolent old gentleman 
whose bowels of compassionate mercy constrained him to 
do his best to protect the unprotected; to help lift up 
brave, courageous peoples who were being unjustly, un¬ 
deservedly ruthlessly punished and oppressed by a great¬ 
ly outnumbering, overpowering, powerful foe;—as well 
as to protect his own children from further damnable 
slaughter. 

As a result Robert volunteered. 

Rising above his natural instinct of love for peace and 
prosperity, — and notwithstanding the tears, prayers, 
pleadings, entreaties of his mother, his Uncle Robert, 
relatives and legion of friends, he “shouldered his gun 
and marched away.” 

Mrs. Bishop was frantic—she even cursed the day she 
left her humble home and had come to live with her 
brother. She could endure poverty, hunger and want 
better than this—for what use would it be to her or hers 
now? The business will fail, fail absolutely without him 
— (and their part of it did experience an awful slump, 
and but for the demand of the government for their 
products their whole business enterprise would have 
gone under). 

Robert was away from home nearly eighteen months, 
but saw active service only once—one of the fiercest, 
most horrible struggles of the entire war. He came out 
unscathed. Came home with no scars, no bodily hurts— 
but in memoriam’s legion! 

It took only a few months for him to get in working 
harness again and soon had the business booming,—but 
he was restless—something was lacking. He could not 
analyze his vacant, unsatisfied feelings. He finally con¬ 
cluded it was woman he needed, he would get married, 
he must have a home of his own. 



80 


Lean and Lank 


The Bishop enterprises had more than quadrupled in 
the ten years, despite the troubleous, anxious war years. 
Robert and his uncle had grown to be a power in the 
financial and business world. Robert’s commodities were 
second to none,—his reputation none questioned,—his 
word was his bond. He had had the foresight to keep 
his acres always fresh and green; wonderfully attractive, 
productive and profitable. He had allowed as much of 
the natural beauty as was possible to remain untouched. 
As a consequence the large metropolis with its restless 
populace, being attracted and drawn thitherward by the 
glory of God’s nature, was reaching out its hands for 
handsome home sights for the palaces of its rich. Robert 
had been offered fabulous prices for the several hundred 
acres he held as a hunting and fishing preserve, but 
declined to sell, saying he could get far more absolute joy 
and profit by keeping it for the happiness of complete 
relaxation for his immediate family and friends than he 
could otherwise obtain,—more than the hundreds of thou¬ 
sands of dollars could possibly bring him. He had been 
told by experienced, extensive, inveterate travelers (and 
having gone and observed much himself) that no pret¬ 
tier, more picturesque, more absolutely ideal place could 
be found (all things considered) than the one he held. 
It was ideal—ideally located. Financiers, lords of the 
money kingdom, had used every persuasion, every art of 
their artful trade they were cognizant of, to get their 
fingers on his holdings; but the iron posts,—with the 
chevaurdefrise, minus the long spikes,—which complete¬ 
ly encircled the property, fully protected, but did not 
obstruct the view,—remained intact. 

Twice a year for the past five years the friends met 
for a week’s outing:—once in the spring when life, 
energy, vim and vigor were still felt in appreciable, 
active quantities; while the world was still widest awake, 
before it had passed into the languor of the drowsy 
inertia of the hot, sultry days of summer they came; 
and, once when the hunting season opened, after the 



Lean and Lank 


81 


cool October nights, cold November days had made 
bright, gorgeous, vari-colored coverlids of leaves for 
dying flowers and shrubs; when the falling leaves, the 
crackling sound of broken branches and twigs, the wind 
whistling softly through the branches of the naked trees 
made the call for the hunter, with his barking, yelping, 
prancing pack too loud, too long, too persuasive to be 
neglected or passed by unheeled—the Farrises and Daniel 
with a few friends came again and spent days, some¬ 
times weeks, at a time with the Bishops and their friends 
in perfect, luxurious freedom at their camp, — thereby 
“adding a hundred years to our lives” the Judge said. 

Robert's home was Daniel's over many happy week¬ 
ends. Nothing rested his tired brain—after days spent 
in wading through law records and other deep reading, 
much writing and thinking, more than the time spent in 
the blessed freedom of the country, rife with every con¬ 
venience of the modern city home—shorn of all formality 
and convention—of all “frills and furbelows.” 

When their twenty-first birthdays arrived respective¬ 
ly, Daniel and Robert were about the same height, but 
Daniel could still be dubbed Lean—though he was ad¬ 
mirably, compactly built. As he expressed it, “It is no 
use for me to eat cream, oatmeal, chocolate or anything 
else recommended for the lean-guaranteed to increase 
avoirdupois. I will always belong to Pharaoh's lean 
kine, but as long as I am perfectly well, I shall not com¬ 
plain.” 

The same could not be said of his brain,—it had de¬ 
veloped to unusual proportions; the Judge would whisper 
to his nearest neighbor on occasions when Daniel would 
thus express himself as belonging to Pharaoh's lean 
kine—“Yes, but his brain belongs to, classes with Solo¬ 
mon's wise kind.” 

How very proud the Judge was of his foster son! 
Daniel had never disappointed him nor Mrs. Farris. And 
how she loved “Dan!” 



82 


Lean and Lank 


Daniel Foster and Robert Bishop shared their every 
experience, every thought in their frequent get-to¬ 
gethers. Only one subject they had not shared, except in 
a general way—their heart affairs. Both spoke of 
“their girls” with respectful reverence, and would oc¬ 
casionally mention them when telling of some incident, 
but never had “their girls” been discussed . . . Each 
knew if the other loved, he felt as he did, and all talk 
would be irrelevant. 

However, Daniel was a little surprised one evening 
when summoned to the 'phone, being wanted by Robert. 
“Could you come over for this week-end? I have some¬ 
thing to show you, also questions to ask which won't 
stand the 'phone.” 

“Can’t come this time, unless it’s exceedingly im¬ 
portant or necessary that I come, Bob.” 

“Well, it's exceedingly important to me, hence; neces¬ 
sary that you come.” 

“Can we attend to it all in one evening and may I bring 
Jo Byrne?” 

“No, to both questions. Come alone and for twenty- 
four hours.” 

“All right. I am ‘dated up' but think I can arrange one 
twenty-four hours. Which one will suit best, the Friday 
or Saturday?” 

“Friday will suit better for this conference.” 

“Very well, I’ll be there in time for dinner, not later 
than six - thirty. I order that delicious gumbo, fried 
chicken, hot biscuit or rolls and coffee, it's not quite so 
good anywhere on earth as there, Bob.” 

“Thanks. Order received in toto. I’ll tell mother what 
you said. Come on.” 

“Dan, Ruth graduates from Columbia the last of May. 
I am going up to the exercises. She has everything in 
readiness and we are coming straight back to her home 
and the next day at high-noon, we are to be married. 
It is to be a very quiet home affair. No one knows the 
date of our marriage except those who are to be present 



Lean and Lank 


83 


at the ceremony; her mother, father and others of her 
family and her roommate—a Miss Brandies—, mother 
and Uncle Rob—but I can't go through this thing with¬ 
out you, Lean. I want to know if you could run up to 
Newton, be there when we get to her home (the train 
gets in at 6:05) be at the train with my big car. We 
shall go straight to her home, get the coal-dirt and dust 
off, change up a little and go to the club for dinner; 
thence to the theatre; then back home to learn just what 
we are expected to be and do, for, and at the wedding. 
That’s the situation;—can and will you ?” 

“Congratulations and best wishes for the happiest life 
a man can experience with the woman he loves, dear 
Lank. Certainly I will be there, here, anywhere you say 
and do anything you wish me to.” 

“Thanks, old man. Now the other phase of the thing 
is this. When we come back from a two weeks’ stay at 
our camp—just she and I,—a good cook and man to wait 
on us—you know Ruth will be tired, worried almost to 
exhaustion. I want her to have a good rest, complete 
relaxation of mind and body. No one knows where we 
will be except Uncle Rob—he is to see to that part of 
our pleasure and Ruth is delighted,—she thinks the camp 
the most beautiful, the most delightfully refreshing place 
on earth. She refused to go to the usual places brides 
generally select,—said it would make her sick, and I 
believe it would, being already tired,—and you know how 
I desire just such. 

“I am ‘still off’ the other business. We are going 
straight to housekeeping. I submitted several plans to 
her before she went back to Columbia Christmas and our 
home is all ready for occupancy. I want you to see it, go 
through it, examine everything thoroughly, see that it 
comes jamb up to plans and specifications of the con¬ 
tract before I make the last payment. I’ve watched it 
very closely, still some important detail, some convenience 
may have been overlooked and you can detect it. Mother 
and Uncle Robert think it perfect and Ruth is wild to see 
it,—she’s the dearest girl, Dan, and I am so happy,” 



84 


Lean and Lank 


lamely from big Bob . . . “Come, it’s only a short dis¬ 
tance, we can walk. ,, 

They walked up the blocked cement walk, the grounds 
were beautifully lain off, flowers already blooming in the 
yard and in vessels made of corresponding material as 
the walks. Care had been taken not to disturb a single 
tree. The several large oaks and one tall, symmetrical 
cedar gave wonderful setting to the new home which was 
flooded with light as Robert walked up the steps and 
pressed a button. 

“Pshaw! I didn’t intend to light but one room at a 
time, but it’s all right, come in, Dan.” 

Carefully, slowly and with actual affection for each 
room and fixtures, Robert carried Daniel, explaining the 
effect he and Ruth desired by having this here, putting 
that there. Did he think these results were obtained, 
judged by him, an outsider, a visitor, by whom they 
would want to get the same idea, have every pleasure 
and comfort, see the beauties as they did? 

The survey was made. Every water device, every light 
switch, every electric device was tried out. Every chair 
sat upon to find its comforts or shortcomings; every 
window looked out and lights thrown on to see if the 
view could be made more attractive, more beautiful. 
“Ruth suggested this and this,” Robert would explain as 
view after view was followed up. Everything, so far as 
Daniel could see, was comfort, cheer, complete exactness, 
nothing to be desired, nothing lacking. He knew Robert. 
Every drapery, every rug, ornament, picture, everything 
spoke volumes of respect, honor, love, adoration for the 
woman he hoped to make the mistress of this home. 

Daniel noticed, with full measure of humor and ap¬ 
preciation (of which he did not speak), the marked dif¬ 
ference in sizes of the chairs in the living room, library, 
and especially their bed room. High, roomy, comforta¬ 
ble chairs for those of Robert’s large, lengthy comfort; 
others of like make and style (several sizes smaller) for 
those of Ruth’s small, lithe comfort. “This is as it 
should be, thought he, I’ll remember that; for a long, tall 



Lean and Lank 


85 


person can be just as comfortable, sit just as gracefully 
in a small low chair; as short, small persons can sit com¬ 
fortably and gracefully in a chair where their feet can't 
touch the floor, their heads reach the natural head rest, or 
their arms touch without effort the arms of the chair. 
Yes. I'll remember that." Aloud he said: 

“Lank, no woman on earth, that is even half a woman, 
could help but love, honor and obey the man who has put 
so much thought and love into a home for her. I know 
Ruth does appreciate you and will reverence you to the 
end of time. Your home is perfect in its complete homey 
loveliness. The whole scheme of your marriage, two 
weeks’ honeymoon at the camp, then to your beautiful 
home—dear Lank, is ideal. It strikes me as perfect. 
May the luster of your wedded bliss never dim. Any 
visitor, any guest could not fail to note the completeness, 
the beauty of everything, if I am a fair judge." 

“Thank you, Lean, you and Jo Byrne shall be our first 
guests—we want you to be—won’t you ?’’ 

Daniel was a little confused, but quickly rallied his 
forces—“Will you serve us my favorites for dinner?" 
he fenced. 

“Certainly will, just name the day." 

“Lank, I have enjoyed this time with you more than any 
ever, though, I must confess I was somewhat surprised 
at the knowledge disclosed. If you think of anything I 
can do to serve you and Ruth, I shall take it as a favor 
if you will let me know." 

“Thanks, Lean, I certainly shall." 

“I know you are happy, Lank, good bye. Luck to you!’’ 

“Thanks, same to you. Good bye.—I believe Lean is 
in love with Jo Byrne or some other girl,—I believe he, 
too, is fixing to get married," soliloquized Robert as he 
went to his room—“Every word, every expression, every 
move, loudly, unmistakably said: T’m in love too.’ ’’ 

But that winter found Daniel putting in every moment 
in hard thought and study at the university where he 



86 


Lean and Lank 


expected to receive his diploma at the close of that 
semester. 

The year following found Daniel—not the dissembler 
of the law of which he had so ardently dreamed and for 
which he had been studying and preparing himself; 
hence, he was not gradually ascending to the seat of the 
supreme judge as Judge Farris said the name David in¬ 
dicated he would and as his desires were of that nature. 
But it found him dealing in monies of large denomina¬ 
tions. Finances were his forte. It came as naturally 
as for a fish to swim, a dog to bark, a bird to fly and in 
his meteoric rise in the financial world he resembled the 
eagle in his bold daring, his successful flights. Being a 
clear, precise, quick thinker and having the courage of 
his convictions he soared away upon the mountain top 
nor heard the song of the little birds below nor cared 
what they sang. 

Daniel never got over his ten-cent bonus and baking 
powder can banking days. 


CHAPTER XII 

The clock had chimed eleven, the embers of a dying 
fire—the first of the fall—(not yet cold enough for fur¬ 
nace heat) were falling apart sending up their last 
feeble, flickering rays. Going out, then catching hold 
again giving weak yet weaker flashes; then falling to 
rise, to flicker no more; but to glow fiery red, then 
blacken—die clinkers or ashes. The Judge was still read¬ 
ing. Mrs. Farris had gone to her room an hour before. 
The Judge became conscious of diminishing heat, felt his 
feet growing uncomfortably cold. He closed his book, 
placed it upon the rack, glanced at the clock which show¬ 
ed a few minutes of twelve; stood up, slung his arms 
back and forth vigorously, was doing the same exercise 
with his legs when the front door was noiselessly opened 
and closed as Daniel came in, humming softly to himself. 

"Glad to find you up—must have found something ex- 




Lean and Lank 


87 


ceedingly interesting to have kept you reading so late,” 
spoke Daniel in low voice as he came up to the still glow¬ 
ing coals, and stood with back to them, his hands spread 
so as to receive their warmth. 

“Late for Judge Farris, how about Daniel Foster?” 
smiled the Judge. 

“I guess I am a privileged character at this time of 
life,” laughed Daniel. “Judge, I want you to prolong 
your dissipation a few minutes longer for me if you will. 
This room is a little frigid, believe I will put on a little 
more coal.” 

The Judge made himself comfortable as the fire began 
to blaze, while Daniel, with his light top coat still on, 
stood with his back to the fire, one hand thrust in his 
pocket, the other dangling his watch chain. 

“Judge, I owe it to you and Mrs. Farris to tell you 
this: You remember long years ago when I was a tiny 
boy I told you I had elected to become a judge like you, 
have a wife like Mrs. Farris, and a home like this. Well, 
I meant it. That ambition, that desire has never changed; 
nor have my energies and efforts in that direction dimin¬ 
ished; still as you know, I have fallen far short of my 
first aspiration. I can never reach your pinnacle of suc¬ 
cess as a judge, that is very evident. But, with all 
reverence and respect I ask that you rejoice with me 
again and again, for I have not failed in my second 
resolve. Judge, Jo Byrne has promised to be my wife. 

“The days of miracles are not over, for it is only 
miraculous that the little girl I thought the prettiest I 
had ever seen, when I was but eight years old, (she was 
so far out of my reach), the little girl with beautiful curls 
the color of old furniture shavings; the little girl whom I 
thought was yours when I saw her with that most 
magnificent dog, is to be mine, she is mine. Please exult 
in and sympathize so much with my feelings, so much in 
my happiness that you and Mrs. Farris will not mention 
it. I wanted you to know as soon as possible so you 
would understand and be glad with me.” 

“Congratulations, Daniel, I could not wish it other- 



88 


Lean and Lank 


wise. I have seen the course you two were pursuing for 
some time. Wife and I have watched, prayed and hoped 
that would be the culmination of your admiration and 
friendship, that such happiness would be yours. You 
could not have made a wiser, better choice, in my opin¬ 
ion and I do indeed wish you all joy. 

“Daniel, I can say what I am about to say to you with¬ 
out fear of bad results. Daniel, your proclivity toward 
making money is very marked. It seems as natural for 
dollars to grow where you turn your hand and brains 
as for leaves to grow upon the strong, sturdy oak. A 
wonderful characteristic but one fraught with many dan¬ 
gerous pitfalls, especially for one so young. 

“You are not hard to look upon, another serious con¬ 
stituent of your nature. Either of these has been a ball 
and chain around many a brave and good man’s neck. 
These are the two most powerful forces in the mas¬ 
culine make-up, and when combined have the strength 
to tear down and destroy the most Gibraltic specimen 
—they have the strength to build up and feed from ever¬ 
lasting to everlasting those who with their wisdom and 
wealth have gotten knowledge. 

“I honestly believe, my son, you belong to the last 
mentioned. I believe you are big enough, brave enough, 
have lived with the unfortunate poor long enough; I 
believe you are far sighted enough, have the moral and 
intellectual ability to use these all powerful forces as the 
Almighty intended they should be used. 

“I believe you fully realize what a power money is— 
you have seen the results in the few short years you 
have handled it and observed its handling. History, my 
son, has its multiplied records of the wrecks the misuse 
of money has wrought. It has destroyed man and nation 
since the beginning of time—and, son, none are immune 
to its atrocities; possibly because of the quickness with 
which it so often attacks and the beautiful irresistible 
pictures it holds up ever before our unsuspecting, be¬ 
nighted visions. 

Yet—turn the picture—reverse the use of its power 



Lean and Lank 


89 


and what glorious uplifts in physical, mental, moral, 
spiritual comforts it brings to millions. 

“Extremes and means — the jewel consistency has 
never appealed to me so much as in the last few years 
or since I’ve been watching your development into man¬ 
hood. You remind me, Daniel, of a strong, young sapling 
in physical being. I hope you will be as the sapling in 
that the winds of flattery, the storms of popularity, the 
cyclones of greed and graft can not uproot you, but will 
cause the roots of rectitude and right to descend farther 
down into the vitals of your life, catching such hold as to 
never be shaken and make the full-grown tree able to 
withstand the strain which the years will bring—make 
you ready, anxious to help in a right way the hordes of 
deserving young men and women less favored than your¬ 
self. 

“Ever remember, son, more and more money brings on 
more and graver responsibilities. I have seen hoary- 
haired giants become but as dry stubble in the financial 
forests when the storms of temptations began to howl— 
the full ripe years, the heavy fruited top became, in 
truth, the weight that uprooted, tore down and utterly 
destroyed them. 

“Most wonderful are your opportunities — weighty, 
terrible your responsibilities. May you never under any 
circumstances let the 'jingling of the guinea' deaden or 
weaken in the smallest degree your high sense of honor. 

“My prayer to God for you is that you may never be 
less than a man. I am proud of your physique, proud 
of your personal appearance; proud of your brain, of 
your social and financial standing; proud of the respect 
you have for yourself. So far as emulating me as judge 
(I appreciate very much the compliment) I had rather 
see you where you are—in the sphere to which you are 
naturally adapted. You have enough law to make your 
decisions wise and just, enough to place you free from 
worry of having attorneys; enough to make you com¬ 
petent to make quick, correct decisions. I am truly glad 
you have had the law whether you practice it or not, it 



90 


Lean and Lank 


will ever make you a good, capable, reliable judge after 
all. 

“Daniel, there has been much joy and satisfaction in 
my placing store upon you. You don’t know, you can’t 
know, the unspeakable joy wife and I experience when 
we can point our finger with love and pride at you and 
with deep concern say: That is our boy, he is part of the 
work of our hands.’ ” 

Daniel turned to face the fire. “Thank you, thank you, 
sir, for what you have said,” in muffled voice, was all he 
could say. 

Judge Farris passed on to his room leaving Daniel to 
the quiet of his own thoughts. 


CHAPTER XIII 

“Come in. What brought you so early, my pretty 
maid?” laughed the Judge as Josie Byrne Allison came 
tripping up the walk. 

“Thank you. I came to see Dan, Judge, is he here?” 

And that young man having seen her from his window, 
as she crossed the street and hearing his name called, 
came down the stairs three steps at a leap. 

“Yes, ma’am, right here and at your service,” he said 
at the finish of a several foot glide. He caught her hands 
as if a kind of brace were necessary. “Can’t do that so 
well since cold weather set in,” he guiltily blushed. 

This was the first time she had been over since she had 
promised to be his wife. 

As a soft, pink glow suffused her face, it became ap¬ 
pealingly charming and beautiful. 

“So glad you found it necessary to call,” said the 
Judge, “Come in Joie.” As Daniel placed a chair near 
the fire, the Judge had pressing business elsewhere and 
marched straight back leaving the two alone. 

“How beautiful, fresh and sweet you look, dear Jo! I 
have never seen you dressed like this before,” and tak¬ 
ing her in his arms, he smothered her with kisses. When 




Lean and Lank 


91 


she recovered herself she pushed him from her blushing 
deeply, saying as she hurriedly glanced about: 

“Why, Dan! You ought not have—done—that—what 
made you do—such—a thing—Da . . . ?” 

“You, my darling, you made me. Never do and look 
that way again if you do not want me to murder you with 
kisses—you temptress. How could I help it when you 
look so transcendingly beautiful in that morning gown?— 
Jo, I have had to hold myself in check so long and now 
it’s my privilege,—I have the right, dear ...” 

“No, you haven’t either—why we are—why we are— 
it’s—oh, Dan,” and she burst into tears. 

“Forgive me dear, dear, Jo, if I did you wrong. I will 
try hard never to hurt you again. But I am not stone 
and you are tempting me now beyond all human endur¬ 
ance. Dry those tears and look at me or I will be forced 
to take you in my arms again. —Jo—?” 

Another slight pause. “Jo?” 

“Dan, you won’t ...” 

“I will have to and this minute, if you shed another 
tear, if you do not look at me—, Jo? ... ” and taking 
her hands in one of his he dried her tears with his hand¬ 
kerchief, then placing a finger under her chin drew her 
sweet face close to his, but did not touch her lips. . . 
“What is it, dear, what message is it you have for me?” 

She turned and dropped upon the couch, tucking one 
foot under her. Looking archly into his deep eyes as he 
stood looking down at her said: 

“Ruth called up and said she wanted you and me to 
come over for dinner this evening. It is Lydia Lu’s 
second birthday, and she wants to have a little celebra¬ 
tion, have two tables of bridge, for the mothers who 
come with their babies and she wanted you and me to 
match her and Bob. She had to call early as she was 
going to her mother’s—they are to go on a shopping ex¬ 
pedition and wanted to get us before we made other plans. 
I am to let her know at nine. If we go, or don’t go we 
will have to do a little shopping ourselves, for we must 
give that darling baby girl a gift. So I came over early 



92 


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to ask if I could go to town with you as you go to your 
office, so we can do this shopping. ,, 

Daniel wished in his heart Jo Byrne was at home—he 
with her. Why had she said just that? Did she know 
she was tantalizing, tormenting him? Looking at her— 
knowing her as he did, he knew she did not. It was 
very necessary just then that he fix the fire, then put his 
hands deep down in his pockets before answering very 
matter-of-factly. 

“Yes, Jo, you may go down town with me as I go to 
work.” 

“We ought to have some idea as to what we will get be¬ 
fore we go, Dan. What do you suggest?” 

Daniel could endure no more, relief must come some¬ 
how,—he was stifling, he lamely suggested,— 

“Have you a jewelry or doll catalog at your house? 
We could look it over and get some idea.” 

“I don’t know. We could go see . . . Mother will 
know.” As she stood up he placed her light morning 
wrap around her shoulders, opened the door for her to 
pass out, lightly touched her arm as she went down the 
steps—one ahead of him, bringing their faces almost on 
a line as she looked up at him and talked. “These crisp 
mornings and evenings put such gorgeous colors into 
flowers and leaves—look at those chrysanthemums—did 
you ever see so many colors? — so many shades and 
blends of the same color. They, with those vines and 
those fiery red bushes as a back-ground, look exactly like 
pictures I have seen of old fashioned Italian gardens 
from my window and our front porch. The first thing I 
do every morning is to open my window and look out 
upon this lovely natural picture. Don’t you just love 
them?” she gritted her teeth as she knelt, placed her 
arms around as many as she could reach and looked up 
at him. 

“The most beautiful picture I have ever seen—I love 
it,” the low earnestness told how very true the state¬ 
ment. As she gave her hand for a “lift up,” he said, 
“don’t you want to cut some for your room?” 



Lean and Lank 


93 


“Not this morning, thank you, I have roses already 
cut.” 

If he had to encounter this every day he knew he could 
not wait for the New Year for the “right,” the “privi¬ 
lege” to hold her to his heart. He must get himself to¬ 
gether and hold fast ’til the next hour was over. So, 
with clinched fists and jaws he followed her slowly across 
the street, up the steps, into the living room where she 
left him to look for the catalogue. She soon returned 
with a catalog of jewelry. Jauntily throwing herself 
upon a lounge, she motioned him to sit beside her while 
she opened the book. He saw nothing but her pretty 
hands, the one that wore his ring flashing his love signals 
as she turned the pages, and pointed to this and that. 
Finally, a little locket, with ring to match, were decided 
upon. The selection being “well pleasing” to Daniel 
(though he could not have told to save him what the 
selection was). Then she asked: “How shall we present 
them,—take them or have them mailed direct?” 

He didn’t know. 

“It will be more satisfactory if we take them,” she 
decided, “you giving the ring as that is usually a gentle¬ 
man’s gift,” she said roguishly, “and I will give the 
locket which is more feminine,” she smiled irresistibly 
into his face. “Now you go and I’ll be ready to start in 
twenty minutes. I don’t wish anything for breakfast 
but a cereal and fruit.” 

“Haven’t you breakfasted yet? How rude of me! We 
had just finished and I had gone up to my room for some 
letters when you came.” 

“Not rude at all—how were you to know?” 

“Ask.” 

“Then I would have been the rude one to have intruded 
at that hour.” 

As he reached the sidewalk she called out: “Dan, you 
haven’t told me what to tell Ruth ? whether we would be 
there or not.” 

“Why, my darling,” whispered low as he reached the 
bottom step where she was standing—“didn’t you say 



94 


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we would take the gifts—it being the most satisfactory 
way.” 

Charmingly she blushed as she laughingly said: “So 
much for a feminine, twentieth century memory. Daniel, 
will you pardon me for calling you back, and for not 
asking you if you could or wanted to go?” 

“I'll go where you want me to go, dear love, I’ll do 
what you want me to do,” he softly sang. 

“Daniel, how dare you! Go home.” He turned to 
obey. “Don’t forget to stop by for me as you go to 
town.” 

“I’ll try not.” “How charmingly inconsistent your 
sweet forgetfulness — your sweet thoughtfulness,” he 
chuckled as he briskly stepped across the street and up 
the steps. 

How full! How transcendingly happy the days and 
weeks! How swiftly they passed for Jo and Dan. The 
wedding to plan—things to do now, things to be left un¬ 
done then; the wedding itinerary to outline; and last but 
by no means least, a home to build and furnish. Though, 
after much discussion and reflection they decided it best 
to wait until after the wedding and adjunctive activities 
were over to build their home. In this her parents, Judge 
and Mrs. Farris thought them wise—especially as there 
was not the slightest reason for rushing things. 


CHAPTER XIV 
Two Months Later 

The clock had long since chimed the hour of midnight. 
The Judge folded his paper, tossed it upon the table, 
threw the remains of the cigar he was smoking into the 
fire and slowly ascended the stairs went to his room. He 
had just dozed to sleep when a gentle tap on his door 
roused him. “Who’s there?” he called. 

“Daniel, Judge.” 

“Come in.” 




Lean and Lank 


95 


“Pardon me for this intrusion, but I must see you for 
a few minutes,—I do not want to disturb Mrs. Farris. 
Can you come to my room?” 

“Certainly, Daniel, hand me the heavy robe there in 
my chifferobe,” and slipping on his robe and slippers, he 
followed Daniel to his room. 

Judge Farris knew from the flash of his eyes, the low 
drawn, quick quivering voice, that Daniel was sorely 
perplexed—angry. Seldom had he seen Daniel angry— 
never as now. He was deathly, ashy pale, his jaws set, 
his eyes electric fires. 

“Judge, have this chair and have the goodness to lis¬ 
ten, if I can tell you with enough reason so that you may 
understand. I am insanely hurt,—hellish, devilish mad. 

“Tonight while at the dance at the club, Jo and I were 
on a seat in a secluded part of the porch. Several ladies 
were on the inside, at a window near us. I had brought 
some refreshments out so we could drink and eat at will, 
undisturbed. I caught her name coupled with mine, 
naturally I listened, thinking possibly some one was look¬ 
ing for us; but no, it was the group of women talking. 
In loud whispers this is what we heard: 'How Mr. and 
Mrs. Joe Byrne Allison can allow their daughter to go 
with that Daniel Foster is more than I can see’—I did 
not catch the next remark, then, 'Why she is wearing a 
diamond as large as a dime, a regular mogul headlight 
—Daniel Foster’s—think of it!’” 

“ 'Why do you speak so, Mrs. McDonald. Do you know 
anything against the young man? He seems quite nice?’ 

“‘Seems quite nice, yes, of course. Why shouldn’t he? 
Know , why I thought every one knew that he is a name¬ 
less tramp — doesn’t even know whether his name is 
Foster, Smith or Jones. He is an interloper. How Judge 
and Mrs. Farris allow themselves to be duped by him is 
more than I can even imagine. The Judge passes for a 
brainy man, but evidently he is in his dotage, mole blind.’ 

“Counter remarks, I did not catch them then, 'Well, pos¬ 
sibly for them, those two, but usually there are children. 
I should think it would be very embarrassing for the 



96 


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grandparents, Jo too, for people to tell her children they 
had a nameless waif, a tramp for a daddy; taunt them by 
asking them if they were kin to the Brown’s, White’s and 
Black’s—I do not believe Jo knows his history or she 
would not encourage him, go out with him, certainly not 
marry him.’ 

“I could endure no more. I took the tray from Jo’s 
lap put it on the floor, put my hand on hers and said: 
‘Jo, let me take you home, please.’ Her hand was icy— 
she sat very erect—she seemed unable to move. I put 
my arm around her, helped her to my car, got the butler 
to have a maid bring her wraps, bring them with my hat, 
coat, and gloves to my car, saying, ‘Miss Allison was not 
feeling well and wished to go home.’ 

“Not one word did Jo say. I put my hand on her’s. 
She shivered, God! think of it, shivered at my touch! 
I left her at her door. I kissed her hand (which she let 
me hold only a moment) and left her. I had a thousand 
times rather have faced a firing squad than to have left 
her to face a living hell—. God Almighty knows she is 
mine! I . . . ” 

His hands clasped so tightly the nails, the joints, were 
bloodless, his vessels strutted; his teeth ground, it seemed 
as if they must break. 

Judge Farris was stunned, hurt, angry. 

“Sit down, Dan. We must thrash this thing out. You 
must listen to me. Do as I say. You are in no condi¬ 
tion, you are totally unfit; to think sanely; to act wisely.” 

“I had rather stand, I can breathe better.” 

“In the first place, Dan, you know that you are not a 
nameless tramp ...” 

“What else am I?” 

“In the second place you know you are not an inter¬ 
loper. Wife and I had to do some clever maneuvering 
to get you in our home—you are not an intruder in the 
smallest atomatical degree. In the third place (not say¬ 
ing it boastfully) the boy that Mrs. Farris and I would 
take into our home, love and rear as our own, is worthy 
the love, the hand of any girl and I would so love to so 



Lean and Lank 


97 


inform the Mrs.—whoever they are. If the truth were 
known I wager they—and the other scandal mongers, 
have daughters of marriageable age that they would 
delight to see become Mrs. Daniel B. Foster. And, I 
shall prosecute certain scandal mongers—character as¬ 
sassins—make them ‘pay the fiddler’ by proving their as¬ 
sertions,—make them reap the full benefits of their un¬ 
kind, untrue statements. We will see who is in their 
dotage—where the imbecility comes in.” 

“No, Judge, you and Mrs. Farris must not be drawn 
into this, you must not be hurt, must not become of¬ 
fended because of me. I appreciate—oh, how I do ap¬ 
preciate your confidence, your belief in me! Your 
love . . . 

“It is hard, damnably hard, for a man to lay his heart 
bare to another, and I know you believe that I would not, 
could I have honorably done otherwise. I would have 
left without a word of explanation, but I could not bear 
to be thought an ingrate by you, by my dear mother 
Farris . . . 

“But, Judge, it is true I do not know my mother and 
father. I do know they were all right. I know they were 
honorable, honest, good, though they may have been as 
poor as the poorest. It is true I was a waif, but I as¬ 
sure you an honorable, honest one, I do know I am all 
right. No man is worthy to call Jo Byrne Allison wife, 
but I am as worthy as any living man, and if she and. I 
were the only ones to be considered I would take her in 
my arms and defy the ‘world, the flesh and the devil.’ 
But ... as the old woman said—there may be others,— 
then I would be a murderer—I would kill any man or 
woman who should taunt one of mine with doubtful 
ancestry. They could never march under the shadowy 
protection of the scarlet letter. No ... ” His passions 
over came him, a choking hissing sound forced its way 
through his teeth. 

In changed voice he continued: “As happy as I have 
been in this home, as much as I love and owe you and 



98 


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Mrs. Farris I wish I had never come here, never had seen 
the woman—! 

“I should have left without a word, but as I said, I can 
bear anything better than that you should think me un¬ 
grateful, for no other reason under heaven would I have 
told you all this. That is all, Judge, but before I go 
promise that you and Mrs. Farris will not think of me as 
an ingrate, will think as kindly of me as possible.” 

“Dan, I am sorry you should even think we could think 
of you as an ingrate, you have been all a son could pos¬ 
sibly be. I wish I could shout it to the world just how 
good, how very satisfactory your every act has been. I 
know you are heavy hit, Dan, know your very life and 
soul seem crushed within you; but, you are a brave, 
strong, courageous man, you must carry on. What do 
you mean by saying, ‘before I go’—‘I would have gone 
without a single word V ” 

“Do you imagine I could, even for an hour, endure 
here longer? Why, Judge, I would go raving mad!” 

“Did you tell Jo you are going?” 

“No.” 

“What will she think, Daniel? What will Jo do? You 
know she loves you, I know she loves you. Is it hard on 
you? Then think what it will mean to her. You know 
‘Love is of man’s life a thing apart—’tis woman’s whole 
existence.’ You ...” 

“Judge, for God’s sake, do not make it any harder for 
me! I can not see her again. I could not leave her. I 
would go stark mad! 

“After what she has heard, she will think I duped her; 
will think of me as the ladies wish her to, and hate me 
with bitter, deadly hate. She will think I deceived her, 
lied to her—she will not entertain even a kindly thought 
for me and for her sake, her happiness I hope she will— 
that will help her so much to forget. Good night and 
good bye, Judge, God bless you and your good, sweet 
wife.” 

His tall form quivered, shook convulsively as he stood 
very erect and held the door for the Judge to pass out. 



Lean and Lank 


99 


The Judge rushed to his wife’s room, roused her, told 
her of the hideous rabble of the crowd—what havoc it 
was playing. “Come with me quickly, maybe he will lis¬ 
ten to you; maybe you can persuade him not to leave. 
With trembling fingers she folded her kimono around her, 
slipped on her slippers and hurried to Daniel’s room, but, 

All within was desolate and hare, 

The room had lost its soul — 

He was not there . 

Papers concerning the disposition of some important 
matters, which the Judge could attend to, were neatly 
stacked, with wide rubber bands holding them intact. 
Across the front was written in bold type. “Please at¬ 
tend to these at your very earliest convenience.” And 
two letters, one addressed to Judge and Mrs. Farris, the 
other to Jo Byrne Allison, with “please deliver,” were on 
the table. 

The Judge turned the letter over and over gravely 
thinking the while. He knew Daniel Foster was gone. 
The letter was as one from the dead. Sitting by his wife 
on the side of Daniel’s bed they together read: 

Dear Judge and Mrs. Farris: 

I love, I respect, I honor you. I am not an ingrate. I 
can not bear to ruin Jo’s life. Daniel Foster no longer 
exists; he is dead; he goes into the whirling throng to 
lose his name, his identity. His earnest desire is that 
you try not to find him, dismiss him from your minds; 
when you must think of him, be as generous, as charita¬ 
ble as you can. He shall ever hold you in revered remem¬ 
brance. Daniel B. Foster. 

Then the cry of his soul, almost unreadable: P. S.: 
For my sake, for God’s sake, take care of Jo. Dan. 

Judge and Mrs. Farris spent the remainder of the 
night in Daniel’s room, talking, thinking; thinking, talk¬ 
ing. Mrs. Farris quivering in every muscle, as the hot 
tears rolled down her cheeks. They were sorely distress¬ 
ed and hurt. They were to respect Daniel’s earnest desire, 
that they “try not find him.” 



100 


Lean and Lank 


Early the next morning his request concerning the let¬ 
ter addressed to Jo, was granted. 

Frantically with streaming eyes, in the dim, soft glow 
of the early morning light; Jo, all alone in the quiet of 
her room, read, — reread as she spasmodically clutched 
her constricting throat: 

Jo: 

You could not help hearing the conversation last 
evening—parts of which are true. I do not know my 
mother or father, I do know they were good. I did not 
mean to deceive you—I never dreamed of doing you 
wrong. I always knew and felt I was all right, I did not 
know until last night that you—that others did not. 

The ring is yours to do with as you deem best. 

Please forgive any seeming wrong I did you—God 
knows I intended none. 

Forgive and forget, Daniel Foster. 

The sharp ringing of the phone roused the Judge. 
“Judge Farris, can you come over at once,—Jo Byrne 
wants you.” 

“Yes,” and putting Daniel's note in his pocket, he 
crossed the street. 

As the Judge came into her room, Jo threw herself 
into his arms convulsed with sobs: “Tell Dan to come 
here. I want him. I must have him. 0, Judge Farris, 
make Dan come to me at once.” 

Gently, very tenderly, the Judge stroked her hair—he 
knew Jo had to know the absolute truth now—knew it 
would be best that she should, though damnably hard. 
Taking her arms from round his neck, he laid her on her 
bed, taking one cold trembling hand in his . . . 

“Listen, little Jo, listen to me. I have never seen, I 
never want to see, a human suffer as Daniel Foster suf¬ 
fered last night; is now suffering, no doubt will always 
suffer. He is the biggest, bravest, best man I know. You 
were his life, his very existence and for your sake, for 
your future happiness, because of his overwhelming love 



Lean and Lank 


101 


for you, he thought best, thought he had to give you up, 
—give his life. Let me read you this, Jo. Listen to what 
he wrote us: 'I can not bear to ruin Jo’s life. Daniel 
Foster no longer exists, he is dead, he goes out into the 
whirling throng to lose his name, his identity. He shall 
ever hold you in revered remembrance. Daniel Foster. 
For God’s sake, for my sake, take care of Jo. 

“Daniel Foster no longer exists, he is dead, he goes out 
into the world with name changed, to lose his identity in 
the whirling, raging, maddening throng. I am sure he 
will do that very thing, he loved you too well to do other¬ 
wise. Daniel Foster no longer exists, he has lost himself, 
is losing himself, the chances are we will never hear 
from, never see him again. I do not believe that Daniel 
Foster will ever lower his standard, though this is enough 
to drive him mad; make him do anything.” 

“It’s all my fault—oh, it’s all my fault that he’s gone. 
I should have put my arms around his neck and made him 
know it made no difference to me. Instead of doing that 
1 said not a word and that made him feel I was hurt 
or angry. 

“Oh, I’d give all I have if I could have him back and 
make him know I am not the least bit hurt or disap¬ 
pointed but love him more because of his lonely child¬ 
hood. Judge Farris, I was dazed for the time—it was 
all news to me. I had only thought of Dan as an orphan 
and being reared by you and Mrs. Farris. I was think¬ 
ing, and I am sure now I must have seemed cold and in¬ 
different, but I did not mean to hurt him. How little 
he must think me! I never dreamed he would take it 
so seriously.” 

“Daniel Foster has a very high sense of honor, Jo, and 
he thought it would not be honorable to marry you if you 
thought him an outcast, an interloper as you doubtless 
led him to believe you thought him by your silence, and 
he loved you too well to suffer the pain of staying here, 
being forced to see you merely as an acquaintance, so he 
has done the only honorable thing he knew to do.” 

“You must find him. Oh, Judge, I must see Dan,” she 



102 


Lean and Lank 


said in a choking voice as the truth dawned upon her 
with full force—“Never see Daniel Foster again . . . ?” 
She could not endure such a thought, such a condition 
could not prevail. With a scream that rent the air (bring¬ 
ing her mother and father in terror to her room) Jo fell 
upon her bed in a dead faint. The condition was so 
profound, so prolonged, her parents became alarmed; a 
physician was hurriedly summoned. 

The doctor pronounced her nerves in bad shape: “She 
has had a bad fright; her nerves are extremely taut—on 
the verge of snapping. Have this prescription filled at 
once. I will send a nurse out right away with full in¬ 
structions. This room must be kept absolutely quiet, 
semi-dark and well ventilated for several days or the re¬ 
sults may prove disastrous. I will see her again at noon. ,, 

Jo had begged that the Judge not leave her. He had 
promised. A cot was placed by the side of her bed and 
for seventy hours he sat by the sufferer, holding a hand 
or reclined on the couch if she were sleeping. 

The third day Jo burst into a torrent of tears. The 
doctor was sure she would be better. When she grew 
comparatively quiet, she asked the nurse to leave her and 
Judge alone for a few minutes. When the door was 
closed behind the nurse, Jo calmly said: “Judge, Dan 
has gone to Robert and Ruth’s or Mrs. Bishop and Uncle 
Rob’s; please go at once and bring him to me.” 

“No, Jo, he is not with them. I went there the first 
thing the morning Daniel left, have called at noon and 
night, every day since, in spite of his request and our 
resolve not to; but I thought it right, natural that we 
inquire there—thought it due you. We will search no 
more; he begs that we do not. They have not seen him. 
They are as anxious and worried as we are,—you know 
how they loved him. Bob is hard hit.” 

“Daniel must be found. He must come back to me. 
Why, Judge, I can not live this way. 

“Judge, oh, Judge! what matters it if Dan doesn’t 
know his parentage—does that make him less a man? We 
know he is all right, a gentleman in the highest, most 



Lean and Lank 


103 


complete meaning the word conveys. There is not a 
yellow streak of a hair’s breadth in his make-up. I would 
stake my life, my soul on his honor, his uprightness. If 
I am willing to share his future, what difference should 
it make to any one else? I would go to the ends of the 
world with him and never have the least doubt or fear 
that I would not be treated fair, square, just, honest and 
with the sweetest gentleness and consideration. Oh, no 
one knows like I do how very gentle, good, kind and con¬ 
siderate he is! He has the kindest eyes I ever looked 
into. His voice, the touch of his hand would, I believe 
calm a raving maniac. I have seen little boys and girls 
stop crying, cease instantly from angry passions the 
moment he spoke to them, their grievances forgotten, by 
the caressing softness, the emphatic justice of his voice. 
His decisions, on even the most trivial tfiings, were al¬ 
ways given with care and kindness. I can hear him say¬ 
ing now: ‘Wait now, little man, let’s see about that,’ and 
the ‘little man’ would stop, listen attentively and in¬ 
variably sunshine would burst from the clouds; he would 
leave them all happy and satisfied.” Large tears rimmed 
her eyes as she continued: “Why every dog and cat in 
this community know Dan, know his voice. The tread 
of his feet even, convey the kindness felt for every dumb 
creature. O, Judge Farris, what am I to do—what must 
I do—what can I do, without Dan? I will find him if it 
takes a lifetime, he did not request me not to search; and 
every minute of my wakeful hours will be spent looking 
for him.” 

The Judge made no comment for some moments. 
“Daniel Foster is all you think he is, Jo, he is the most 
exemplary man I know. This is certainly a most un¬ 
fortunate, most deplorable condition—the most regretta¬ 
ble one that has ever come within my long, varied ex¬ 
periences. I would gladly give all I possess to have it 
different, have it as it should be.” His bloodless face 
dropped low upon his breast. 

Unearthly pale, stern, dryeyed she sat upon the side of 
her bed as he talked. Putting a hand affectionately upon 



104 


Lean and Lank 


his shoulder, she said: ‘‘You must go home, Judge, you 
are wearied, worn out with me and thoughts of Dan. I 
thank you, oh, I thank you. Tell the nurse to come 
here as you pass out, please.” 


CHAPTER XV 

Up to this time there had been no ebb to Daniel's en¬ 
thusiastic ambitions. Casual observers or the uninformed, 
the unthinking, would have said: “That young man 
has no troubles. He is lucky; everything he does turns 
out well. He has only to wish or will a thing and behold 
it appears before him the finished product! He's just one 
of the favored few. 

Some of the kindlier disposed, or better, those who 
had had kindred experiences would have said: “That 
young man deserves all he gets. Having been an orphan, 
having had such a hard, strenuous time even to exist in 
his early childhood, much regard is due him—he having 
made himself worthy.” 

But those who knew—if it were practical for one to 
really know—knew that Daniel suffered, bled and died 
(using the expression reverently) for the prosperity, the 
good-will he enjoyed. 

He had made it his business to succeed. 

His happiness in his romantic life had been a con¬ 
tinuous uphill climb with nothing to cling to but the right 
determination to win. His joy in reaching the top had 
stayed at full tide—he countenanced no ebbs. 

Daniel had built an impregnable exterior around his 
workshop of daily trials, temptations, ceaseless grind, 
undeserved, unnecessary hard knocks,—“man’s inhu¬ 
manity to man,” and allowed only the sunshine of his 
good nature to pass beyond the “windows of his soul,” 
and the contagious smile of his pleasing countenance. 

He practiced temperance in all things,—the hardest 
accomplishment one has to undertake in these gay, care¬ 
free, joy - riding, picture - going promiscuous week - end 




Lean and Lank 


105 


camping, auto-speeding, “club-smokers,” muck-raking, 
irresponsible, dancing times; where a new kick or a dif¬ 
ferent kind of thrill must accompany or result from every 
transaction or it is pronounced a “flat tire”—a failure. 

Daniel had lived so long in the sunshine of Jo's pres¬ 
ence and love; so long in the quiet dignity; the calm, 
peace, marvelously cultured atmosphere of the home¬ 
like home of the Farrises that this thunderous lightning 
flash blinded his vision, froze his spirit. He could not 
penetrate the deep darkness. His sun had set forever; 
there was no possible hope of another ray of light and 
soul warmth for him from the source from which all 
his light and warmth must come; all must be forever 
dark, cold, foreboding. He could look neither up nor 
out, he must look ever in and into a bottomless pit of 
pitch darkness, seeing, feeling, only despair. 

To live in that home again in the accustomed way was 
unthinkable. 

The grief he felt outstripped the possible. His whole 
nature was shocked, torn asunder by violent upheavals 
of his thoughts and dreams. He could not shut out their 
ceaseless tread through his brain. Maddening! His soul 
became dead—his life empty. The tearing down of 
bright hopes, beautiful aspirations, fell back upon him 
crushing him to earth, leaving him in deepest gloom. 
The impregnable wall was crumbling and falling all 
about him. 

In his office—all lights extinguished, he sat in death¬ 
like immovable stare—he seemed petrified. 

How long he sat there he never knew. He seemd un¬ 
able to think, unable to reason. His inner-man was 
completely unhinged even to the separation of marrow 
and bone. He could not rouse himself, all his movements 
were automatic—he was incapable of directing his ac¬ 
tions. All was lost to him. He was waiting for the 
physical end. He was waiting death. He was sure he 
could not exist longer in this lifeless, helpless, hopeless 
state, nor did he have desire to prolong life one minute,— 
if indeed he thought at all. His heart was a cold clay, 



106 


Lean and Lank 


pressing horribly against the feeble flicker of pulsing 
life remaining and stifled him almost beyond sanity. 

Daniel stood up, stared vacantly into the darkness no 
blacker than his outlook on life. 

He no longer held his arms with hands clasped behind 
his back in uncertainty, nor folded across his chest in 
resolution—they fell lifelessly to his side as useless ap¬ 
pendages, useful only to pass his hands over his pale, 
drawn features as if to brush away the tangled morasses 
of impenetrable gloom. 

He passed out into the night. 

He heard and saw without seeing and perceiving. 

He walked on—on— 

At two o’clock one morning, a cold, hard, care-worn 
man registered at a hotel; asked for a room on the third 
or fourth floor with orders that he be not disturbed un¬ 
til late afternoon, when a light meal of milk, toast and a 
fruit salad be served in his room. In the chaos of his 
life, enhanced by the drear loneliness and emptiness of 
this strange room Daniel sat bolt upright, looking 
straight in front, his eyes piercing, a lid never batting; 
then slowly automatically his arms would fold across his 
chest, his shoulders gradually reach the back of his chair, 
his eyes close as his head slowly reached his breast bowed 
to its extremity. 

At some noise—some distraction, not hearing still he 
heard, he would rouse and straighten himself again to at 
length resume the same dejected, forsaken, lost, forgot¬ 
ten, stone-like attitude. 

Daniel, completely saturated with violent emotions was 
sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksands of vision¬ 
ary stupor. 

This secret monster was gnawing at his vitals. He 
had developed a disease which was eating like a cancer. 
The effects of which caused depression by day—despair 
by night. 

The night when he was checking out, more than one 
man and woman turned to look at the tall, pale, almost 



Lean and Lank 


107 


desperate looking man; whose eyes seemed dull from ex¬ 
cess worry and loss of sleep; abnormally large by the 
large, dark, deep circles. 

Some voices, some incidents attract one though spirit¬ 
ually dead, and Daniel heard, as he picked up his bag 
and walked through the room and out the door, in a 
man’s low, deep-toned voice “Behold, there goes a man 
who has been in hell.” 

He stepped into a taxi and was hurriedly driven to a 
small neighboring town. 

Going into a telephone booth he soon had his man on 
the line: “Robert, do not speak my name, this is Lean. 
Could I see you a few minutes privately in your office? 
Do not tell Ruth it is I who called—I am a stranger wish¬ 
ing to see you at the office a few minutes.” 

“Certainly, sir. All right, I will be right down,” and 
both telephones clicked. 

Turning from the ’phone Robert said as he put on his 
hat and overcoat: “Ruth, a man wishes to see me at the 
office a few minutes, I will not be away long.” He spoke 
calmly enough, but his every nerve was on the qui vive as 
he made feverish haste to his friend. 

Daniel had let himself into the outer room and was 
calmly waiting for Robert, whose quick steps soon re¬ 
sounded upon the pavement. 

Without formal greeting Daniel said, as he clasped 
tightly Robert’s hand,—“Lank, swear to me this meet¬ 
ing, this hour’s conversation will never be divulged by 
you,—not one word to any one.” He paused for reply. 

“You have never been unreasonable, Lean, have never 
done me wrong, I trust you. I swear this meeting, this 
hour’s conversation shall never reach the outside world 
through me.” 

They had entered the private office, both men remained 
standing, close, facing each other. 

“Lank, only desperation forces a man to bare his heart, 
his life’s love to another; know assuredly that such, and 
only such drives me to you, my friend, who has never 
failed me. Bob, I respect, I honor, I love you. Never 



108 


Lean and Lank 


will I forget what Judge Farris, that grand, good man, 
said to me when we were kids, the time you and your 
mother were fixing to move here. I was heart-broken. 
He said: ‘The love and respect you have for Lank and 
his mother are beautiful, not one atom would I lessen 
those feelings. Gratitude, sincere love and respect are 
the most beautiful attributes on earth today; cling to 
them, my boy, cling to them; and whether you have an¬ 
other thing to brighten your life or make the world a 
happier, better place for you to live in, they will be the 
beacon light which will never be dimmed through time 
or eternity/ I shall have just and ample cause to learn 
the truth, the force of those statements. 

“Robert, I love Jo Byrne Allison, she has promised to 
be my wife—wears my ring. I love her with every atom 
of my being. I never thought, never dreamed, it had 
never been hinted to me that I had no right to love her, 
that I was doing her wrong. I knew I was all right and 
as worthy of her as any man living—no man is worthy of 
Jo’s love. Some nights ago, while at a dance at the Club, 
she and I overheard a conversation something like this: 
‘How that Mr. and Mrs. Jo Byrne Allison can permit 
their daughter to go with that Daniel Foster is a mystery 
to me. He is a nameless tramp—doesn’t know whether 
he is a Foster, Jones, Brown, or Smith. He is an inter¬ 
loper. Judge Farris is a fool—mole blind—, to allow him¬ 
self to be duped by such as he.’ Finished up by saying, 
‘Jo did not know my history or she would not, could not 
afford to go with me, much less marry me, for our chil¬ 
dren would be taunted for having a nameless tramp for 
a Daddy.’ When I could endure no more, I asked Jo to 
let me take her home. When I touched her she shivered, 
shrank from the touch of my hand. I could stand no 
more, could not hurt her more, so I left, leaving a note for 
her, and for Judge and Mrs. Farris. I knew, or thought 
they would come direct to you and Ruth, so I stayed 
away, giving them time to see you so you would not look 
guilty or be guilty of knowing my whereabouts. Have 
they been to you ?” 



Lean and Lank 


109 


“Yes, and Dan—dear, dear Lean, they are pitiful. Jo 
has been ill, under the constant care of a physician and 
nurse.. This is damnable business.” 

Daniel almost lost his equilibrium, “Jo sick, suffering, 
calling for him—could he go on? God help him, he had 
to go on, he could not go back and make things worse! 
The worst would soon be over for her, he hoped; but how 
much longer could he endure such torture? His jaws 
clamped, his pale face grew paler, greenish white. 
Clinching tight his fists, he closed his eyes saying, almost 
roughly,— 

“Hear me out quickly. Daniel Benson Foster is dead, 
his life, his spirit, his soul are dead, only the flesh re¬ 
mains and it registered at the hotel under this name, 
B. D. Retsof. Quite foreign looking isn't it?” He showed 
it written upon a card of identification, his lips curled in 
a bitter smile—merely spell Foster backward, swap 
places with initials and pronounce Ret-suf—B. D. Retsof. 
—B. D. Retsof goes out into the maelstrom of life, Daniel 
Foster is no more, he has lost his identity.” 

The entire suggestion was fraught with danger, dis¬ 
aster and death for Daniel, to Robert. He stepped back 
as if in revolt, and Daniel seeing the movement and 
knowing, held up his hand as one in authority, a des¬ 
perate character ‘having the floor' and hurried on: 

“This is the task I would impose upon you, Lank. 
Write once a month to the address sent you from time 
to time, necessity will demand my change of residence. 
Send only one to one address unless authorized. If you 
have no time to write, merely write the date and sign 
your name. By that mute monthly token I shall know 
Jo is all right. Do not mention her name. By the 
monthly appearance of the plain, white envelope, post¬ 
marked here, addressed in your hand I will understand. 
When the envelope fails to come, then I will know that Jo 
married that month, then send no more, your obligation 
to me will then cease, only say nothing. Will you solemnly 
swear you will do this for me, Lank?” 

The big man dropped his head,—“How funereal! How 



110 


Lean and Lank 


terrible! How horrible! Do not do this thing, Lean, I 
beg of you.” 

“Nothing else I can honorably do,” hissed Daniel 
through clinched teeth. 

“Suppose I am sick or something should happen that 
I could not write, shall I have some one else to do it?” 

“No one. I believe Robert Bishop will always as long 
as necessary, be able to write his name and B. D. Ret- 
sof’s.” 

“Very well, I swear it.” 

“Thank you, Lank. God bless you, your home and your 
mother. You will know Retsof’s address next month. 
Good-bye.” A moment he clung in vice-like grip to Rob¬ 
ert’s hand, then dropping it he rushed through the door, 
through the outer room, into the street, leaving Robert 
Bishop struck dumb. 

He slumped into a chair. “Daniel Foster is dead, no 
doubt about that. Poor Lean. How tragic, how sad for 
such fate to overtake such a man! ‘The maelstrom of 
life.’ No, no, Daniel Foster will assert his manhood. He 
may, doubtless will, get into the whirlwind, but never 
the whirl-pool, never the maelstrom. God forbid it, my 
friend.” 


CHAPTER XVI 

Daniel, in his desperate loneliness, took passage for 
Brazil—from New Orleans, having passed through sev¬ 
eral southern states in his wanderings after leaving his 
home. 

He landed in Rio de Janeiro, in company with a young 
coffee prospector from New Orleans and New York 
whom he found both interesting and skillful. They re¬ 
mained together several weeks in Rio making necessary 
preparations for a large business deal. Then to Sao 
Paulo where the complete transaction—when fully closed 
out—netted far more than the young prospector had 
dreamed possible. As a result of such unusual success 




Lean and Lank 


111 


Daniel (because of the sheer force of his financial 
acumen) was given full rein and was asked to take 
charge of the next transaction, which he did on a 50-50 
basis. 

Daniel remained in Sao Paulo six months, doubling and 
redoubling his money. Soon all eyes were focused upon 
him as a wonder, a wizard at “gold coining”. 

Daniel realized very forcibly that he was becoming 
reckless; his entire nature rebelled against such. He re¬ 
fused to become dissolute. He had grown disgusted with 
the showy, gaudy tawdriness,—the turpitude of the mot¬ 
ley crowd. Besides, business was growing too easy, giv¬ 
ing too much time for personal thinking, a thing he must 
not, could not do. So he decided to change his place of 
operation and to the surprise, the consternation of the 
young prospector, he announced one morning (after a 
huge profit of the day before) his intentions of “moving 
on”. “I have decided to try my fortune in another field, 
Mayo, where racial mixture is not so well favored as 
here, especially with the African. So long, Mayo, good 
luck to you.” 

“Good luck to you, Retsof, hate to see you go. Are 
there no inducements I can offer?” 

“None, thank you,” shaking his head Daniel reluctantly 
relinquished the hand he held in long, tight clasp—the 
hand of the man he had learned to like and admire; 
whose companionship had meant much in helping him 
forget; whose refreshing unexpected jests, peculiar 
phraseology and pleasantries—his humorous nothings 
and quaint philosophy had kept him from the madhouse. 
He picked up his traveling bag and walked to the station. 

“Quite a strange but interesting companion,” mused 
Mayo. “But faith! Isn’t he a lucky guy? If I carried 
his stakes I’d never leave Brazil until I had cleaned up a 
few million instead of a few thousand. He could do it 
and on short notice—I say he could! If I ever saw a sure 
winner he is ‘IT’ and so dog-gone clever about it. He 
seems to be a reckless, dare-devil sort of fellow, though 
altogether self-respecting. Deals fair and square and 



112 


Lean and Lank 


demands the same of the other fellow. Strictly business 
in business—I like it, it is the only way. 

“I've watched him pretty closely, especially around 
women, and I would be willing to wager my head that a 
woman is responsible for this crazy go germ he has in 
such pronounced numbers in his system. No other thing 
on earth can cause a man to act as complete a damn fool 
as a woman; and the finer, the bigger, the more perfect 
the man, the bigger the fool. Can’t screw his conscience 
up or down a notch or two to suit himself to surround¬ 
ings, to existing conditions in order to have a good time 
and forget. Some men are so sensitive, are of such ten¬ 
der, trusting natures, they will allow the lying deceit of 
one woman to embitter their whole lives. It is tragic. 
Any man is a fool to trust one. He is playing with fire 
and sooner or later will be burnt, warped, twisted,—and 
made unfit for heaven or hell.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

“The twenty-fifth of December—just a thousand years 
have been torn from my calendar of time in these few 
months. Ah, well, what’s the use! I had hoped that 
Time, that angel of mercy,—‘Time, that carries healing 
in his wings,’ Time, the king of all physicians, with 
Travel his nurse, would at least lessen, if not heal this 
distraught spirit of mine. I had hoped that Time would 
let me forget little by little until at last I would be en¬ 
tirely freed from this thraldom. The poets sing of such— 
of its conquering all things — but Time has failed to 
change or lessen one iota my .... Time, Time! Oh 
‘perish the thought of a respite’! It will take eternity, 
not time! 

“Christmas in London! There seems to be enough 
warmth, cheer, bright colors and lights to make every 
one happy, and to all appearances all are happy,—surely 
I can be too.” And suiting action to the thought he got 
up, put on his overcoat, drew and buttoned it closely 




Lean and Lank 


113 


around his tall form, after first arranging his scarf, then 
turning the collar well up round his ears, taking his hat, 
he went out and into a place, provided himself with the 
cup that cheers and inebriates, then went slowly, quietly 
to his room and made ready for bed. Holding the bottle 
high he poured the liquid into the glass in a small stream 
almost drop by drop. As the last drop fell into the glass 
he, with unsteady hand set the bottle on the table, held 
the glass between him and the light. A hollow, mirthless, 
Satanic laugh burst from his leering lips as he addressed 
it: “So much is required to satiate your maw, 0, De¬ 
spair, ‘than which there is no greater vulture/ No one 
more unfortunate than he who knows not his birthright, 
‘it were better for that man had he never been born’ and 
living should have a ball and chain for an anklet and 
dropped in the deepest hole in the Pacific ocean, any other 
body of water would be too small, too shallow/* Then 
draining the glass he finished, “All hope abandon, ye who 
enter here,” and falling across the bed he fell into a deep 
sleep. 

Another entry is made in B. D. Retsof’s ledger of 
Despair. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

“Judge, Mother and Daddy are going to Nashville to 
spend the late spring and early summer with brother 
Frank and sister Lela and I do not want to go. Can’t I 
stay with you and Mrs. Farris ? If you will ask me they 
will not make me go; please ask me quick, I see them com¬ 
ing, they are here . . . .” 

“Sure, Jo, so glad to have you. You must stay if they 
go and you do not want to . . . Come in folks, how are 
you ?” 

Without giving anyone a chance to speak, Jo rushed 
to her parents saying, “Daddy, Judge Farris has asked 
me to stay with them instead of going to Nashville, so I 
won’t have to go with you, will I? I just feel like I would 




114 


Lean and Lank 


smother in those narrow streets—“and she fanned her¬ 
self with her hands as if smothering at the thought. 

“Why, Jo Byrne, it was especially for you we were 
making this visit. 

“Well, don’t go then, for I do not want to go, especially 
as you have decided to go through the country.” 

“We have written Frank and Lela we would be there, 
what will they think?” 

“They will not care, Daddy, they will not care. But if 
you think they will, you and Mother go on, I’ll . . . 

“I have it Joie”—Mrs. Farris had heard most of the 
conversation as she came in the door, “I have it. Alston 
called up yesterday afternoon and asked his father and 
me to go with him, Lucy, little Al, and a few friends on 
a yachting cruise from Florida to Maine, to be gone 
about a year, they have been planning the trip for some 
time but have just now gotten their affairs in shape so 
they could be away for so long. I could not tell him then, 
as I did not know whether the Judge could go or not and 
was just writing our acceptance—come with us?” 

“How glorious!” Jo showed more real enthusiasm, 
more interest in life than at any time since Daniel had 
been gone. “Now I will enjoy that. Thank you, dear 
Mrs. Farris,” and she kissed that thoughtful woman’s 
cheeks, patted her hands. Going to her father she kissed 
his cheek. “May I go? say I can, oh, I know I can. I 
have never been on a cruise. I have always wanted to 
go on one and this is the very best opportunity I will ever 
have,” and the questioning appealing eyes won consent. 

Jo had traveled much the past twelve months. An un¬ 
governable desire to go, go to public gatherings, to eat 
in public places (a thing she disliked to do, promiscu¬ 
ously, before) had taken absolute possession of her. 
Though the mania was never referred to, one did not 
have to question who saw her eyes watch every tall figure, 
look earnestly at all passers-by: pedestrians, automobil- 
ists, passengers to and from trains—everywhere. 

The proposed trip of a year on the water with only an 
occasional stop for sight seeing, would lessen the nervous 



Lean and Lank 


115 


expectant tension, very materially they thought. Thus 
the consent of the parents was not hard to obtain. Mr. 
and Mrs. Allison were glad, delighted that Joe would be 
so pleasantly situated with such lovely people, for so long. 
Yet, a year would not be long, if the sparkle were brought 
back to her tired eyes, the color to her pale cheeks, the 
sprightliness to her lagging steps, mirth into her laugh¬ 
ter. The months of Daniel's absence had been grievous 
ones to both families, almost death to the darling of both 
households. 

The cruise had been uneventful so far as outside in¬ 
terests were concerned, but most eventful for those for¬ 
tunate enough to be aboard the Merribird,—the days had 
passed into weeks the weeks into months before any of 
them realized how near they were to the end of the up¬ 
ward journey. 

“Can anything in nature be more beautiful than those 
clouds hanging in fantastic shapes, with that gorgeous 
sunset glow against them, as it descends behind those 
tall trees? Come, Judge, get the view from here too.” 

“It is certainly a most beautiful picture Jo, in fact I 
think these inlets and bays on the coast which we so 
leisurely pass are magnificent, as attractive as any we 
have had anywhere en route, as beautiful as any I have 
ever seen. The only objection I have is this heavy wind. 
I don't think it has blown less than fifty-five or sixty 
miles an hour since we struck the coast of Maine. I 
heard the captain suggest to Alston that we retrace our 
course on account of these blows and I hope Alston will 
abide by his suggestion. We will then be rid of the heavy 
disagreeable wind and give us a chance to view the 
scenery along the Rappahannoc, for there are some 
points of interest there I would delight in seeing—we all 
would, I am sure. It will give us more time for our other 
stop-overs, for Alston says we are to cruise the Potomac 
as far up as Washington and Georgetown, with several 
other interesting stops of historic lore on our homeward 
journey, which will include Hampton Roads and Newport 



116 


Lean and Lank 


News. Give us more time in Maryland and Virginia, 
there are so many places and things there that would 
interest as well as delight us. And, by the way, Alston, 
I have two old college friends in Richmond. Tom Brice 
and Julian Moore—you've heard me speak of them so 
often. We can go see them. You will like them Jo—all 
of you—they are gentlemen of the old school, polished 
and educated, not only in books, but experience. 

“Look there to your left, Jo, how does that compare to 
your last ‘perfect picture V " 

“They all seem perfect—all are perfect in their differ¬ 
ent ways. But, Judge, do you know, I do not believe any 
views will surpass those of the Hudson. No adjectives 
were available to me to describe such grandeur, such 
feelings of awe and uplift as I had. Such love, respect 
and adoration I felt, as I beheld them, for the Being that 
made, and fosters them." 

On the homeward journey the landscapes seemed en¬ 
tirely different, did not look the same to Jo Byrne as on 
the upward journey. She was always on the alert for 
the ever-changing beauties of nature made by the ever- 
changing shades and shadows of sunshine and clouds on 
mountain, hill and plain with their accompanying ad¬ 
juncts. 

“I wonder how I happened to miss noticing specially 
the scenery along here, for it is absorbingly enchanting. 
I thought I had seen everything. How do you account for 
it?" 

“We passed here at midnight is the only rational rea¬ 
son I can offer, Joie, at you missing seeing anything of 
the beauties we have passed so long as daylight pre¬ 
vailed," laughed the Judge. “The captain planned his 
schedule so as to make the points of special interest in 
the day coming back, that we passed in the night on our 
upward journey." 

“How very thoughtful, how very glad I am that he did, 
for this one view is worth the trip to see. That high like 
promontory with its chalk like sides, that tall pine, stand- 



Lean and Lank 


117 


ing lone sentinel, on what seems to be the very highest 
point; with that lone buzzard flying lazily around it; with 
those lovely, those beautifully gorgeous, many colored 
reflections of sun on cloud and sky; with those receding 
hills in the distance, is simply indescribably, superbly 
grand. I don’t see how any view in the Alps or anywhere 
else in the world could equal, certainly not surpass it. 
See it’s entirely different now, as we made that slight 
turn. The buzzard got too dreamily lonesome and called 
for company, I guess, for there is another one and still 
another, that you can scarcely see as yet, merely a black 
speck against that cerulean blue. 

“Mrs. Farris does it seem we have been on this trip 
with its many happy hours of unexcelled joys and pleas¬ 
ures,—oh, I can’t even begin to enumerate (I am truly 
glad I have kept a full, complete diary)—almost ten 
months? I hate to think of the end being so near, only 
six weeks more of this unalloyed bliss”—a deep sigh 
escaped Jo’s lips. “That sigh sounded exactly like a 
complaint, didn’t it, but it is not, it is just the biggest, 
best way I can tell you how very wonderful it has all been 
to me. Alston, you and Lucy will never be able to realize, 
never be able to understand what this trip has meant to 
me. 

“As the time is drawing so near for us to disband and 
give up this luxurious mode of living and gliding over 
the water—and—as I am not dressed for the street, I 
do not believe I will go with you two, Judge and Alston, 
shopping this morning, I will stay right here, letting you 
enjoy this outing without the accompaniment of a 
woman. You needn’t thank me, The pleasure is all mine, 
thank you,’ ” laughed Jo as she waved them on. “It is 
entirely too pleasant, too lovely here and I am too com¬ 
fortable to leave,” she continued as the men insisted that 
she get her hat and come with them. “We will go next 
time, won’t we Mrs. Farris?—Nothing artificial on land 
can be half so pretty as that,” she pointed at some vis¬ 
ionary picture. “It might be as interesting, but I like 



118 


Lean and Lank 


nature's glories best." And Jo Byrne stretched her feet 
further out, her head further back and began talking as 
she squinted first one eye and then the other getting 
every possible, varying angle of views. She delighted in 
transforming into word pictures, for the others, the 
imaginative things she saw, who enjoyed immensely the 
representations drawn of the ever changing scenes punc¬ 
tured with her light chatter. 

Jo had changed wonderfully the past few months, her 
improvement was almost simultaneous with the begin¬ 
ning of the cruise. Her merry laughter rang out many 
times a day. She never tired of springing some surprise 
on the older ones, especially the Judge who loved to hear 
and see her refreshing originality. Her ideas were 
clever, entirely her own: a check had never been put on 
her individuality. But the Judge's eyes always held an 
expression of more or less sadness whenever he looked 
upon her, for he never saw her that he did not think of 
Daniel Foster. 


CHAPTER XIX 

A bright eyed baby boy had come to take up his abode 
in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Bishop. ‘‘Let's name 
him Daniel Foster, Ruth?" 

“If you wish it, dear, but I so wanted Robert, Jr." 

Kneeling by the bedside of his wife Robert took her 
in his arms, kissed her neck, eyes, lips, hair. “Thank 
you, my brave darling. Could any man have more cause 
to be happy and rejoice in that happiness than I?" 

To Robert's utter surprise, when he came into his 
wife's room several hours later, he heard the baby re¬ 
ferred to as “little Dan," “baby Dan." 

With all the love of his passionate soul beaming from 
his face, he hurried to the bed, “0, Ruthie dear, call him 
Robert if you wish it, do not do so much for me, I can¬ 
not ask it, cannot let you." 

“Daniel is a sweet, dear name and I loved Daniel Fos- 




Lean and Lank 


119 


ter almost as well as you did. I wish it as it is.” Robert 
leaned over and very reverently kissed her lips; then 
turning, took the tiny hand of the squirming mite of 
humanity, as he was being held by the nurse before a 
bright, blazing fire and kissing the soft baby fingers hur¬ 
riedly left the room—and for the post office. It was the 
second of the month—Robert had forgotten, until this 
moment, to mail the long white envelope he had in his 
pocket addressed to B. D. Retsof. The first day of every 
month for eleven months, since the strange request was 
made, a letter had been dropped in the post office or a 
mail box, addressed in Robert Bishop's hand-writing and 
sent to B. D. Retsof to the different addresses given. 
Different mail boxes and post offices were chosen to avoid 
suspicion as Daniel had requested. 

“But what man wouldn’t have forgotten at such a 
time,” reflected Robert as he hurried on. “I will take this 
short route, go through this shop cutting off three blocks. 
Why did I leave my car at the office? Well, a man is 
liable to do anything when a Daniel Foster Jr. is calling,” 
he smilingly thought to himself, when, bur-r-r-! A broken 
belt came whizzing across space with all force, striking 
him squarely across the breast, hurling him through 
space, out and on the street, breaking both arms (the 
right in two places) several ribs and rendering him un¬ 
conscious for some minutes. When he recovered his 
senses he had been given first aid while waiting a police¬ 
man and physician. When the doctor arrived Robert 
said: “Have an officer call 1259-J, my mother. Tell her 
not to tell my wife, she is sick, understand? but tell 
mother to hurry down here.” 

The policeman turned to go phone the message when 
the doctor interrupted, “Tell her to B . . . hospital, officer, 
we are taking him there. He’s in bad shape, got to get 
straightened out at once; hole in side of head has been 
overlooked. I know his wife, she is in no condition for 
excitement of any kind; better get a taxi go get his 
mother and bring her back with you. What’s your 
mother’s address, Mr. Bishop?” 



120 


Lean and Lank 


“314 Park Place. Before that officer goes I want to 
talk with him doctor,” said Robert. 

“Here officer, be quick about it, he wishes to speak 
privately with you. Make it snappy.” 

“Officer, a very important business letter in a long 
white envelope in my coat pocket must be mailed at once, 
get it out, please; left hand side, and drop it in the box 
at Hill's corner; it’s your nearest box. Attend to it at 
once and without fail.” 

“Sure, be glad to.” 

“Thanks.” 

For two months the “important business letter,” re¬ 
posed in the pocket of the big-hearted, obliging, but for¬ 
getful officer. It being carefully removed while the suit 
was being cleaned and pressed and as carefully replaced 
with other letters and circulars when the suit was re¬ 
turned. 

Another month, the long white envelope failed to be sent 
B. D. Retsof. Robert Bishop had developed pneumonia, 
deep seated, empyemia resulting; the right hand could 
not write, neither the left and he had sworn no other 
should address an envelope to B. D. Retsof. Had he known 
the last one he had addressed was still in the policeman's 
pocket he would have broken faith and had the negro 
janitor, nurse or policeman himself address just one. 


CHAPTER XX 

“Will you please look again carefully and see if you 
have a letter for me—B. D. Retsof,—a business letter in 
a long white envelope?” 

“Be glad to. No, sir, no letter for you.” 

“Thank you.” And turning 'round the whole world 
was in one giant whirl. Supporting himself as best he 
could against one of the columns Daniel Foster pressed 
one hand hard over his eyes and remained very still for 
some time. 




Lean and Lank 


121 


He must get to his room—take the elevator, he could 
not walk up. The boy asked him at the landing,—“Sick 
ain't you ?” 

“Yes, have a boy sent to my room at once—393. 

“A week over due, but, I will not give up, I will not! 
She has not forgotten, she cannot forget in less than a 
year. 0, Jo! My God, is it true ‘a woman's vows are 
writ in sand?' If you have any mercy left, for Christ’s 
sake have mercy on me,—I cannot even hope for death. 
Surely there is no suffering comparable to thoughts of 
happiness indulged in hours of utter hopelessness. 

“Come in. Can I get you to get me some good 
whiskey?” 

The boy looked as if he preferred not to, however a 
what-is-it-to-me expression surmounted his face as he 
came forward for the bill Daniel held out to him. “I 
want the best. I prefer Scotch, if you can’t get that, get 
the best brand you can. Understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well hurry. I may not need it tonight or never, but 
I want it when I do need it and the very best—under¬ 
stand ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Close the door. Have some iced water brought up.” 
Daniel sat as one in a daze until the door was opened by 
the boy with the bottle. Raising his eyes without raising 
his head he said: “Put the bottle on the table with every¬ 
thing necessary for a drink, when I need it, near the 
bed. Thanks. I do not wish to be disturbed. Call me at 
six if I have any mail, otherwise do not. That is all.” 

The cork remained untouched. Daniel Foster existed 
another night, another day—a week. 

A month longer he remained in the place (longer than 
anywhere since leaving Brazil) hoping the delayed letter 
would finally reach him. 

The first of the month—a week. “There's no mistak¬ 
ing. Robert has made no mistake; he has not failed me; 



122 


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he has kept his oath. 0, Jo, my only love, my darling, 
how could you!” The last flickering ray of hope gone—! 

Again the “maw of despair” demanded full pay; again 
another sad entry in B. D. Retsof’s ledger of despair. 
The cork was drawn, the glass filled, refilled—oblivion 
for many hours. 

Rousing himself from the stupor, a lethargy which had 
lasted well into the next day, Daniel lay for a long while 
lifeless. No plans, no hopes for the future, not even the 
momentary joy of receiving and opening the long white 
envelope, reading the few unnaturally friendly lines from 
Robert, once a month. The only spark of life left to him 
worth living for, gone! Hours he listlessly dragged 
about the room, finally he dreamily, languidly pulled him¬ 
self together, dressed himself for travel, packed his bag 
and left for, he knew not, cared not where. The last 
chapter had been written for him, the finis written in 
bold clear type, the irrevocable End so far as he was con¬ 
cerned. The hardest, severest, most difficult travel would 
suit his feelings best—so he found himself going east— 
seeing but little. The unending days, nights, weeks, 
months of travel, feeling only the sickening thud of his 
heart above the heat, cold and other discomforts he ex¬ 
perienced on his long, rambling travel,—until he found 
himself in the quiet, genial atmosphere of the Hawaiians. 

In Honolulu, one noon, when he had been there about 
a month, without a spark of energy in his lifeless body, 
he strolled into a place for lunch. He found the place 
comparatively empty. Selecting a table well off to itself, 
he hung up his hat, seated himself, and picked up a news¬ 
paper that had been left by some one—“An old paper 
from the states. Well, not so far away after all, let’s see 
how old it is,—Why, not old at all—November 4, 1927. 
Some one lost it for here is a place marked ‘Buck Up,’ by 
Edgar Guest,—don’t specially care for Edgar’s poetry 
but believe I will see what attraction ‘Buck Up’ had for 
the owner of this paper. 



Lean and Lank 


123 


‘Buck Up. The demon of despair. 

Is stronger than your strongest foe/ 

Well it’s the devil all right. 

‘Shake off the shackles which you wear, 

Stand up and give life blow for blow/ 

“Shackles!—You Daniel Foster, alias B. D. Retsof, 
shackled? Another truth, well I guess so . . . Yes, ‘stand 
up—give life blow for blow/ How can one stand with 
nothing to stand upon? Not even a name to cling to 
much less stand upon,—and besides one blow like this is 
a complete knock out, no chance for a return blow, no 
come back. 

‘Take failure now, tomorrow too, 

And then the next day if you must 

But watch that chap inside of you. 

He is the one you mustn’t trust/ 

“ ‘Take failure’—well, I failed all right, a failure to last 
to the end of time. 

‘The vicious fellow of your mind, 

That whispers craven hints, and tries 

With artful cowardice to bind 

Your hands and arms and blind your eyes 

Needs watching more than outer foes, 

Far greater injury he’ll do. 

He’ll steal the courage from your blows, 

And make a coward out of you.’ 

“Yes, vicious fellow of my mind,—coward. ‘He will 
steal the courage out of you.’ Daniel Foster a coward ? 
Courage stolen . . . ? 

‘Get your vision straight, enemy with you day and 
night, 

Wails “all is lost,” hope is vain. 

Buck up. One victory wipes out 
A hundred failures gone before; 

Heed not the little voice of doubt 

That sickly whispers: “Try no more.” 

Watch that demon of distress 

Which seeks to make a wreck of you. 

Your thoughts are stronger than your foes 



124 


Lean and Lank 


They will weaken you, they’ll impose 
New fears upon you, day by day, 

Who gives his mind unto despair, 

Lodges a foeman in his brain. 

Buck up. Tomorrow may be fair, 

For cowards only hope is vain.’ 

" 'Coward,’ how I do hate that word, and 'for cowards 
only hope is vain.’ 

"Am I a coward? What have I done of cowardly 
nature? Not knowing my parentage; having been in an 
orphan’s home, not knowing how I got there; having 
been a tramp, but never a beggar (I do not recall of 
ever asking any one for anything except the drink of 
water asked at the store where I bought my first dinner; 
the dime’s worth of apples, the nickel’s worth of cheese 
and crackers) ; having been a poor bootblack, living in 
the home of an equally poor one and his over-worked 
mother,—was I a coward to attach myself to Judge Far¬ 
ris’ train? 

"Was I? 

"To the unbiased, unprejudiced, honest convictions of 
my heart—the judgment of my best reason, I am sure I 
was not. 

"Was I a coward to aspire to be a great judge, to aspire 
to be like, to emulate the best, the wisest man I know ? 

"Was I? 

"My best judgment and reason back me up in thinking, 
I was not. 

"Was I a coward to love Jo Byrne Allison? Was I? 
It came so naturally, so sweetly, so unprovoked. Was 
it cowardly? In my super-selfish, super-sensitive nature 
wherever she is concerned, I cannot believe I was a 
coward to love Jo. 

"Was I a coward to leave Judge and Mrs. Farris— 
that grand father and mother of Israel, whom I know 
loved me—who had done so much for me—whom I know 
my leaving hurt, for Robert said, 'Dan they are pitiful, 
this is damnable business.’ Was it cowardly in me? 



Lean and Lank 


125 


“Was I a coward to leave the woman I love, who in 
her sweet womanliness gave herself body and soul to 
me? To leave her without a word, to suffer not only for 
me, but because of me? 0, God, am I a coward? Should 
I have stayed on, relinquished all right, all claim to her 
and just lived on a mere friend, eking out a miserable 
existence ? 

“I may be a coward, maybe I am, but I am sure I 
would have been worse than a coward had I remained. 
I could not have looked upon Jo without my desire for 
her overcoming every other desire in life. I would have 
been a murderer for I would have snatched any man 
limb from limb who would have touched her. God for¬ 
give me, I am a man. You gave me this nature, I tell 
you I would have killed him! But I left her without giv¬ 
ing her a chance, left her to suffer the ‘slings and arrows 
of contemptuous’ cruel gossip, and to the prying, scruti¬ 
nizing, sleuth, hawk-like eyes of slander and discord— 
which to her sensitive nature must have been, must be 
horrible. But, I did right, did the lesser of two evils. I 
do not believe I am a coward, yet—I was not strong 
enough, I lacked courage, stamina, I lacked sufficient 
manhood to hold myself in check. I drowned my brain 
in drink, sank very low, simply for the reward of one 
night’s relief from maddening thoughts. Did it pay? 

“And good faithful Robert. Did I act cowardly toward 
him, thrusting a request sealed by an oath, upon him 
which he loathed—hated? Leaving him almost roughly. 
And, dear Mrs. Bishop, my foster mother—the ones who 
so generously, so unquestioningly shared their shelter, 
poverty and rags with me,—leaving her without a word 
of explanation, without a word of good-bye. It is true I 
tried to remunerate them from the time I was self-sus¬ 
taining, though the deeds they performed are not com¬ 
mensurate—cannot be balanced with gold, position or 
power,—‘Of all sad words of tongue or pen,’ surely there 
can be no sadder than ‘It might have been.’ 

“Yes, all things considered, I have proven myself very 
weak. Yet ... ” Several minutes passed, then taking 



126 


Lean and Lank 


his hat he passed out and up to his room, where, without 
relenting, the painful reflections moved on. 

“The first of November, how near Thanksgiving, then 
Christmas again.” (What floods of memories engulfed 
him). “The ‘gnawing tooth of time’ it is called. It is 
gnawing, no disputing that, but without a sign of diminu¬ 
tion of—of what I feel. I do not believe I can spend 
another Thanksgiving, another Christmas in a foreign 
world, regardless of all preparations to do just that. I 
believe I will spend this Thanksgiving, this Christmas in 
the States—which one, where and how I cannot even re¬ 
motely guess.” 

Another long pause. 

“Let’s see. I have about circumnavigated the globe. 
I believe I will start back around, letting the departure of 
the first out-going steamer determine my route,” he 
laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. “Doesn’t that sound 
like a big, strong man of decision and character? 

“Yes, as delightful as your climate, 0, Honolulu. As 
beautiful as your broad streets and parks gorgeous with 
giant, indescribably lovely flowers; your schools, 
churches; your energetic brown skins hurrying and 
scurrying to load and unload freighters; the boys diving 
for coins; your Chinatown with its bespeckled, motley 
crowds in ‘holokus’; your Japs with swinging baskets 
piled high with delicious, juicy fruits, I am going to leave 
you. 

“That’s the third time you have scampered in front of 
my door. I have a great mind to kidnap you, you little 
scalawag of a Kanaka, your eyes and pearly teeth re¬ 
mind me of— 

“I am beginning to like ‘poi’ . . . Hawaiian music, too. 
‘0, Honolulu, an American loves you,—your ukuleles, 
too’—something dreamy like and soothing in your atmos¬ 
phere, but—I am going to leave you. I don’t know who 
christened you the ‘Paradise of the Pacific’ but you are 
rightly named. Honolulu I will come back to you some 
day. 

“Yes, I believe I will do just that, as childish, as sense- 



Lean and Lank 


127 


less as it may seem; simply a reckless, daring, don't care 
sensation that I have, yet I feel exactly like I will enjoy 
it. Enjoy did I say? Yes, enjoy doing it. When I get 
to the state to which I am going, I will settle down to per¬ 
manent work, and at least be able to think well of myself, 
which will be some satisfaction. 

“Jo is married. I wonder to whom, yet, I wouldn't 
know for the world. All thought of her must be sup¬ 
planted by others that will not make me so everlastingly 
gloomy, foreboding, demoniacal. But memory will not 
down, will not yield. It clings with the tenacious tenacity 
of the devil!" 

He gritted his teeth, clinched his fists. Then he slowly 
relaxed. From a distance he heard the soft, sweet, clear 
strains of Leibestraum, whether from piano or ortho- 
phonic he could not determine. It was beautiful. Jo had 
played it so often for him. How restful, how soul-satis¬ 
fying she had played it. Taking up his hat and coat, he 
started for the open. As he approached the door, some¬ 
one quite near began singing, in perfect English “Are 
You Thinking of Me Tonight?"—and the last strains of 
the Leibestraum were dying away in the distance. “The 
devil must be my guiding spirit—surely this program is 
made to order strictly for my undoing. How much more, 
my God, how much more!" Daniel grew sick, every 
vestige of color had left his face, his head drooped. He 
strolled in dream-like stride out and on to the street. 
He walked for miles entirely oblivious of time, place, 
distance or direction. He walked until a stream of water 
barred his path. Sitting upon its bank, he looked out 
over the quiet, peaceful valley, bright with flowers—sat 
until the shades of night shut from view only near ob¬ 
jects, except the lights from the distant city. Still he sat 
thinking, thinking. He was sick with longing. Slowly 
he clambered to his feet, shook himself, got his bearings 
and began to retrace his steps and went straight to the 
transportation bureau. He looked over the schedule and 
made reservations on a liner booked to leave that mid¬ 
night, bound for San Francisco, California. He came 



128 


Lean and Lank 


back, hurriedly packed his bags, checked out and going 
down town, had dinner in a small cafe near the landing 
where he checked his baggage, then went to a play (the 
first one he had attended since leaving home) returning 
just a few minutes before leaving time. 


CHAPTER XXI 

“Doctor, Robert Bishop is not recovering as rapidly as 
a man of his physique should and Fd like for you to meet 
me at the hospital in the morning and look him over. I 
know he has had an uphill grade from the first—all the 
odds were against him; but I have never seen a finer 
specimen of a sure enough he-man—he’s as clean in mind 
and body as a hound’s tooth.” 

“Harris, I expect he is worried about his wife, you 
know there is a tiny baby in their home.” 

“0, yes, I know and that may be the trouble, but I 
should think not, for both mother and child are doing 
nicely. She had the baby—a fine little fellow, out to see 
him yesterday.” 

“Yes, I know, but you know how some men are about 
home, and I expect he is one of that kind. It can’t be 
finances—he’s in fine shape, has his business down to 
such mathematical exactness and precision that it can go 
on indefinitely without him. However, I will see him 
with you at the hospital in the morning, at say—nine 
o’clock.” 

“Very well, that time suits me. Thanks.” 

“Well,, Bishop, I have brought another doctor to look 
you over and see how much longer before you will be 
out dancing the Charleston. I think you might be carried 
home tomorrow if you care to go, but we will wait to hear 
his verdict.” 

“Bishop, I think you could stand the trip all right, but 
hadn’t you rather stay on here and recuperate a week or 
two longer?” 




Lean and Lank 


129 


“I had rather be home than anywhere on earth, doctor, 
but my wife is not very strong and I fear she might 
worry about my condition. It would make no difference 
how many nurses I had, my wife would assume all re¬ 
sponsibilities, both as to my welfare and comfort and the 
nurses’, so for her sake I had best stay here until I can 
be independent of attendants. I feel almost as helpless as 
a baby yet and it riles me. Two months now of almost 
absolute helplessness, and I feel like it will be two years 
before I get back to normal at the rate I am going.” 

“You were badly bunged up, Bishop, for three weeks 
we were in a doubt as to 'which way the cat was going 
to jump.’ Two arms, with compound fractures each and 
several smashed ribs, to say nothing of a large hole in the 
head (which gave us more concern for a few days than 
all your other trouble) is a right big menu within itself— 
few men could have gone through so much as nicely as 
you have. Then add to that lobar pneumonia with empy- 
emia—which within itself takes an exceptionally strong 
constitution to combat. Yet, notwithstanding all that, 
you made the up grade without a flicker as long as you 
didn’t know darkness from daylight—your head from a 
hole in the ground; but when your brain began to hit on 
all cylinders you began to slacken speed, so we came to 
the natural conclusion you were badly worried about 
something—possibly your wife and baby whom we as¬ 
sure you are 100 per cent all right.” 

“I am so glad they are, thanks to you both. I have been 
worried.” 

“Well, just banish the worry and we will let you go 
home when you please. One of us will see you this after¬ 
noon. So long, Bishop. Put this patient on full feed, 
nurse.” 

“All right, doctor, I, too, think he deserves a full tray.” 

Left to himself Robert began to take stock of his con¬ 
dition. “I must fight this worry, I am treating Ruth and 
my babies wrong. But poor Lean! What in the world 
will become of him? As long as I heard from him once 




130 


Lean and Lank 


a month I felt he was all right, even though he was a 
wanderer. I felt he would come back home some day, 
but now—! He's had enough to drive him goofy. I could 
not blame him for anything he would do. 

“Just so he is every whit a man, what difference ought 
it make to anyone what his father's name was,—whether 
he came over in the Mayflower, or not, or was first cousin 
to Pocahontas or Captain Kidd. I know he is a thousand 
times better than some who claim they are related to 
those of Mayflower and Revolutionary fame,—to kings 
and presidents. 0, I’d give all I possess to know Dan’s 
address, so I could send the envelope with just the date 
and my signature if nothing more!”—mused Robert 
Bishop as he turned his body with a tired, weary motion 
toward the wall and went to sleep. 


CHAPTER XXII 

“You are a very sick man, Mr. Foster, but if you will 
follow my instructions and do as Miss Rawls says—obey 
her orders to the letter—there is no reason in the world 
why you should not be all right in a week or ten days." 

“I’ll do my best, doctor, though I am bad about taking 
orders. Good bye." 

“Miss Rawls, will you phone this, to this phone address, 
for me please and tell me the reply." 

As she read the message Miss Rawls shook her head 
saying, “Mr. Foster, the doctor forbade just this. Mr. 
Rush is a lawyer and you must not be disturbed by any¬ 
one, much less lawyers." 

“He is a special friend of mine, he will not be here 
long. His visit will not disturb me, in fact it will do me 
good, will get things off my mind that worry me, so, of 
course, retard my improvement," he tactfully added. 

“I will ask the doctor, if he says so—all right." The 
'phone clicked. He heard—“Doctor, Mr. Foster wants 
his lawyer friend, Mr. Rush, to see him for only a few 




Lean and Lank 


131 


minutes early this morning. He says the visit will bene¬ 
fit him as he wishes to rid his mind of some business that 
is bothering him—his pulse? A little quick, almost nor¬ 
mal. Temperature?—just a little rise.—Yes, I believe 
so, too. Thank you.” 

“Mr. Foster, Mr. Rush was in and will call by on his 
way to his office. The doctor said a short visit would not 
hurt you.” 

“Thank you. Will you have Henry bring that table and 
put it just here; have him bring plenty of paper, the 
large note paper kind, then place that chair by the table 
with floor lamp near so we can have artificial light if 
necessary. Thank you, Miss Rawls.” 

“Draw your chair up close, Rush. If you sit just here, 
that glare from the window (which is annoying) won’t 
bother us — the nurse doesn’t want the shade down. 
Thanks. 

“Rush, you know the calamitous skeleton in my closet. 
I have been quite sick several days, the doctors say I will 
soon be terra firma again. I believe I will. But such 
sudden acute attacks, such pronounced abnormalities in 
my system are likely to prove fatal any time—I want you 
to fix some legal papers for me. 

“You remember I’ve always believed my boy is living, 
is well and somewhere in this country—I still believe it 
and more strongly now—especially the past few weeks, 
than ever before. I want you to take this data, connect 
it up properly—it’s all marked and dated. Have it typed 
in black ink—two or three copies. Then I want my will 
rewritten. Everything goes to my boy, except the reve¬ 
nue from the place at Brooklyn which remains as it is, 
those are the only changes. 

“If I should die suddenly, this fund is set aside for ad¬ 
vertising. I want this, in this blue envelope, printed in 
every paper, both secular and religious, every magazine 
in the country and with the reward offered, the fortune 
awaiting them, maybe in that way, my boy can be found. 
That is all of that. Now I want you to send that fel- 



132 


Lean and Lank 


low, Ben Lewis, to me this afternoon. He is out of town 
this morning. Tell him to come about four as I am usually 
feeling better about that time. Attend to this at once, 
Rush. I thank you for coming so promptly—. Good 
bye.” 

Miss Rawls coming in sometime after found the pa¬ 
tient quietly sleeping. She went softly out, closing the 
door—the first natural sleep he had had in a week. Tak¬ 
ing a book she sat near the door, so as to hear the first 
noise of awakening. 

“Mr. Foster, I believe Mr. Rush used some slight-of- 
hand, some magic on you. You’ve had a nice, long re¬ 
freshing nap of nearly three hours. Your pulse is a 
little quick, but your temperature is normal; your eyes 
are brighter and clearer than since you’ve been here, the 
same can be said of your skin; it looks less leathery, your 
hands and nails more natural. In fact, I think you can 
see, without fear of hurt, Mr. Ben Lewis who has just 
’phoned and said he would be here at four-fifteen.” 

“Thanks, Miss Rawls. You doctors and nurses don’t 
know what’s best for a fellow every time, do you? I 
told you I knew what I needed to make me well again, 
didn’t I?” laughed Mr. Foster. 

“You did and seemed to have hit it exactly correct this 
time. There’s the bell—4:15—I guess it’s your friend, 
Mr. Lewis.” 

“Show him in and don’t let us be disturbed. He has 
only a few minutes and it’s important that we finish our 
business this afternoon.” 

“Close that door and lock it, Lewis. Thanks. 

“Lewis, did you ever hear the negroes sing a song one 
line of which goes something like this: ‘Bless God, my 
burden’s been rolled away.’ ” 

“Yes, something like that—, felt the same way at 
times myself.” 

“Well, that’s exactly the way I feel now. I have a 
hunch or a presentiment or whatever you want to call it, 
that I want you to go to California—San Francisco is 



Lean and Lank 


133 


the place, I feel sure. You know things often happen by 
chance which one would not even dare hope for. This 
is chance, and I have hope. I want you to go to every 
restaurant, hotel, lunch-stand, cafe, cafeteria, — hang 
around the depot lots—and the first man you see who 
comes nearest answering this description manage to 
meet him, eat at the table with him,—get near him some 
way, near and familiar enough to have him hear this 
story,”—holding up a scroll— 

“In my ‘minds' eye' I see a tall, slender fellow about 
six feet, weight about 155-160; swathy, but clear skin, 
brown eyes, straight, soft, dark brown, almost black hair; 
carrying himself well with quick, springy, easy stride. 
You know the story and can tell it well; but for fear 
something has slipped your memory, here is a new copy 
with which you can refresh your brain. I want you to 
leave for the Pacific coast tonight, or as soon as you can 
manage. Keep me posted, especially changes in address. 
I believe Daniel Benson Foster, Jr., will be with me be¬ 
fore he is twenty-seven years old. Good luck to you, Ben 
is my most earnest desire—my prayer.” 

“Thanks, Foster, for your sake, if for nothing else, 
I wish it too. I can’t leave before noon tomorrow; by 
waiting ’till then I can make better time.” 

“All right.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

As sometimes happens in large waiting rooms and as¬ 
sembly halls where noise and quiet prevail by turns—a 
lull, almost as weird and uncanny as the calm before a 
cyclonic storm, occurs, everything seems to stop at 
exactly the same moment for only a second of time, but 
long enough for the silence to be distinctly noticed—al¬ 
most felt. Such was the quiet in the waiting room at the 
railroad station in San Francisco, California, when a full, 
round, deep-toned voice which carried well, broke the 
silence. 




134 


Lean and Lank 


“Stop that, you jackanapes! If you touch or laugh 
at that boy again, I will thrash you with my cane within 
an inch of your life.” 

A group of three men standing near the entrance hear¬ 
ing the remark stepped to the opening and looked in the 
direction from whence the sound came, just in time to 
see a tall, well dressed fellow grasp a youth of fifteen or 
sixteen by the collar, whirl him around and give him a 
good shake. 

The younger fellow prying himself free from the re¬ 
laxing grasp, sulkily, sneeringly said as he jerked himself 
away, “Take your hands off me, what have you got to do 
with it?” 

“I will show you if you strike him again,” and looking 
intently at the boy for several seconds as if to impress 
unmistakably that he meant what he said the man turned 
on his heels, put the cane under his arm, hat at com¬ 
fortable angle, walked off and into the waiting room. 

The three men eyed him closely,—one was indelibly 
impressed. “Stranger in these parts, striking looking 
fellow,” was the criticism passed round. 

Mr. Ben Lewis’ brain was electrified with: “The first 
man you see answering more nearly this description : tall, 
slender fellow, about six feet, weight about 155-160; 
swathy, but clear skin, brown eyes, soft, brown hair, al¬ 
most black; carrying himself well with quick, springy, 
easy strides;—watch him, latch onto him, get with him, 
learn his name; tell him this story. Remember things 
oftentimes happen by chance which one would not dare 
hope for. This is chance, and I hope,—San Francisco, 
California is the place.” 

He mentally concluded, “The man answers the de¬ 
scription as perfectly, as exact as if he had been standing 
before Foster while he was describing him. Now for the 
encounter.” 

The stranger had gone to the news stand for a cigar. 
Mr. Lewis casually sauntered up, asked the brands of 
cigars carried, paid for two. Put one in his pocket, got 
the other ready to light; felt in his pocket for his match 



Lean and Lank 


135 


box, not finding it said quite audibly, but so that none 
could hear save the stranger: “Now I wonder if I have 
lost that” The stranger looked around, discovered what 
the lost that was and offered his box. 

“Thanks.” 

Smoking in silence for a few seconds, Mr. Lewis made 
bold to remark, “I enjoyed your little concert.” 

“Mistaken identity, I guess—I've been in no concert.” 

“I refer to the little one act drama on the corner, a few 
minutes since—the little newsy and the bully . . . . ” 

“0, yes,” the stranger said with laconic smile, “I had 
forgotten the incident.” 

“I do not think I will forget it soon, if ever. It re¬ 
minded me so much of a very sad, true story in real life, 
one of the characters in the story being one of my best 
friends. Very interesting—very pathetic—very tragic.” 

As if to himself the stranger softly drawled—“Some¬ 
times I wonder if every one's life is a tragedy.” 

“No, indeed, I've seen lots of comedies,” laughed Mr. 
Lewis. “But it's true, as Longfellow says: ‘Into each life 
some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary.' 
We would not appreciate spring, if ‘it were always 
spring,' you know.” 

The stranger flipped the ashes from his cigar and made 
a move as if to go—Mr. Lewis hurriedly remarked: “I 
came in here for a sandwich and coffee, won't you join 
me ?” 

“I was on my way to a restaurant when that bully 
slapped and cuffed that little boy. It flew all over me, 
so I interferred—like a fool, I guess—cop's business, but 
it's done. I had as soon lunch here as anywhere.” 

“Live here?” 

“Been here only a short time, about a week.” 

“Frisco's a nice town, you will like it.” 

“Yes, I think so. Your home?” 

“No, I am on a business trip. I’ve been here nearly a 
month and like it better every day. The climate is per¬ 
fect. Enchanting scenery; I like it. Really since you 
have mentioned restaurant, I believe I want something 



136 


Lean and Lank 


more substantial than a sandwich. Which restaurant do 
you prefer?” 

“Any of them, makes not a particle of difference. I 
find them all about alike.” 

As they leisurely walked to the restaurant Mr. Lewis 
knew a conversation of comparative interest must be 
kept up if he held his companion, he wouldn’t stand for 
the too light, too long. “If you have not already been 
through it, you must see the Ferry Building. Also the 
fruit and vegetable cannery. You must visit Golden Gate 
park. It is the most beautiful I have ever seen, I ven¬ 
ture the most beautiful in the world. Suppose we drop in 
here and order a full dinner. I think you will pronounce 
this a little different. Splendid food, quickly served, ex¬ 
cellent service all round.” 

Mr. Lewis’ eyes fell upon a table in a quiet, less 
crowded place. He piloted his friend straight to it going 
as slowly as courtesy would permit. He was sizing up 
his man trying to find resemblances of action and feature 
—and he thought he saw both, was reasonably sure of 
some. He sat at an angle so as to watch the unsuspecting 
stranger from a reflected mirror, as well as direct, with¬ 
out being detected, and where he could best watch his 
face as he told his story. He was determined the story 
should be told at this sitting. 

When the meal was served and Mr. Lewis was reason¬ 
ably sure of no interruption he said .... 

“You remind me somewhat of my friend in the story of 
which I spoke a few minutes before,—so muchly so, that 
the little episode keeps bobbing up in my mind ...” 

“What is your story? I like a good one, if it is not too 
full of stale jokes,” interrupted B. D. Retsof, as he made 
himself comfortable. He placed his napkin across his 
knee; drew his plate squarely in front of him; glanced 
at his companion to see if he were settled; took his fork 
as he eyed the food, mentally satisfied that if the taste 
compared favorably with the looks there would be no 
cause for complaint. . . 



Lean and Lank 


137 


“Not a joke in this one, nothing stale about it. It is 
real, absolute living life. ,, 

“Sounds interesting. Long?” 

“No, not so long. A lifetime to live it, only a short 
while to tell it.” 

Mr. Lewis lost no time—the story began. Interest in 
the stranger being aroused from the first. Mr. Lewis 
knew his man, knew he would not listen long, would not 
dally with things not worth the while. 

The stranger finally stopped eating, involuntarily 
pushed back his plate, folded his arms upon the edge of 
the table, leaned a little forward. Mr. Lewis completely 
ignoring the act, he was too interested in his food (he 
made intimation) to notice others. The story continued 
in the purest English; in clean cut, concise, well rounded 
sentences. Descriptive and definitive adjectives were 
chosen to describe perfectly, to fit completely into the 
most comprehensive history of a man's life; until, a little 
boy was lost, has never been heard of; notwithstanding 
the searching for, and the years of advertising. 

The mental agony, which had become almost an in¬ 
separable night-mare to the father, was graphically pic¬ 
tured. 

Mr. Lewis was now sure of his hold upon his man. He 
concluded he had better get him out and to a less public 
place, to his room. He stopped short in his narrative at 
a most interesting time (just as he was ready to call the 
names of his characters) and suggested, “We had better 
vacate, this place seems to be getting crowded and I see 
you are about through eating.” 

“Yes, oh, yes, but you weren't through with your 
story ...” with rising inflection which curious interest 
asks for more. 

“No, oh, no. Being a true story it is quite interesting, 
don't you think?” 

“Indeed, yes.” 

“Suppose we go to my room on the second floor of this 
building; it is quiet there and comfortable. I’ll be glad 
to have you.” 



138 


Lean and Lank 


As they started for the room, Mr. Lewis continued, 
“You are not a newspaper reporter or an author—out 
looking for good material for your next book?”—he 
smiled quizzingly. 

The stranger had sized up his man, too. He knew 
human nature very well, thanks to his early training as 
a tramp, a bootblack, law student and his inveterate 
wanderings of the past months. 

Being interested in the man’s personality and com¬ 
manding good looks, (though a small man) as well as 
extremely interested in the story he was telling, he 
readily complied with the auto suggestion. “It makes 
little or no difference what happens to me anyway” and 
shaking his head he smilingly replied. 

“Not guilty. But your story would make interesting 
reading, all right.” 

“Go in, make yourself comfortable,” as Mr. Lewis un¬ 
locked and threw wide the door. “Here boy, bring a 
pitcher of ice water and two glasses at once.” 

The story was finally concluded, his half of it. Not a 
descriptive word but that had been carefully selected, 
and used with such skill as to portray most wonderfully 
the scenes, the acts, the tragedies unfolded. Such a 
straight unbroken account, one would have thought that 
a book of strange, fascinating fiction was being read. 

Then the bomb exploded. Leaning suddenly forward, 
looking searchingly into the stranger’s face, Mr. Lewis 
asked: “Am I not telling this story to the son of the 
father I have just described, who has suffered so long? 
Is not this Daniel Benson Foster, Jr., notwithstanding 
you introduced yourself as one Retsof?—a most foreign 
sounding pseudonym?” He paused for reply. There 
was none. 

As Mr. Lewis expected, there were no interruptions, no 
demonstrations on the part of Daniel when the questions 
were put. His expressions changed but little as he sat 
in side-like posture, with legs crossed, the right elbow 
resting upon a table, his cheek resting upon the palm of 
his hand; his left arm and hand resting easily upon the 



Lean and Lank 


139 


arm of his chair. His eyes only expressed his feelings 
though to the end, as he looked straight into his com¬ 
panion’s face. There was nothing to hide, nothing to 
even camouflage. 

Mr. Lewis knew Daniel was passing from death unto 
life (as it were), he knew every symptom (though this 
was the greatest, the most exaggerated, most typical case 
ever under his observation) and as he watched him he 
knew the reaction ^vas not a healthy one. With his 
trained eye he saw the color come and go in lips tighten¬ 
ing ; his frame quiver as from excessive passionate anger, 
—which to the untrained eye would have passed unno¬ 
ticed. There was some impediment in the way, some 
tragedy, even greater than being a lost child, boy, man— 
the lost son of a very prominent, very wealthy Virginian. 
Something had engulfed this man, and, by the hard lines 
which now held his mouth, the pucker between the eyes, 
the slowly clinching of the fists until they ached and then 
gradually relaxing again, Mr. Lewis was almost sure he 
knew the cause of the trouble. As he drew up his chair, 
he leaned nearer, placed a hand upon Daniel’s knee and 
his voiice grew gentle, almost a caress, as he said: 

“I am Ben Lewis, a detective. I have been in your 
father’s employ twenty years searching for you, ever 
since and before all advertising, all other efforts had 
failed.” 

Another pause as he looked compassionately upon his 
companion. Daniel, not in the slightest, took notice of 
the self-introduction. He already knew, not the name, 
but the man. No recognition as to the identity of Mr. 
Ben Lewis was at all necessary, so far as Daniel and Mr. 
Ben Lewis himself were concerned, everything was just 
as it should be in that particular. 

B. D. Retsof had been slowly losing his identity, ever 
since the story was first begun. He was now a creature 
of the past, only a memory. Daniel Benson Foster, Jr., 
was being born into the world of his legitimate birth¬ 
right; was coming into his own after all these years of 
uncertainty. The travail, though indescribably strange, 



140 


Lean and Lank 


wonderful, not to be understood by mere man—unfath- 
omably, was painfully sweet;—. Why should Jo Byrne 
assert herself, stand before him in all her sweet, fresh, 
glorious, irresistible loveliness,—tormenting him almost 
beyond endurance? Why, oh, why wouldn’t the appari¬ 
tion down? Why wouldn’t she let his transition be 
pleasure, happiness; instead of pain, anguish! The 
thought of her prodded him with dull, heavy ache, almost 
to distraction. 

Daniel turned slowly, sat straight in his chair, his head 
slightly drooped, both arms on the arms of the chair, his 
legs crossed. He closed his eyes in an effort to hide his 
agitation; in an effort to calm his raging brain, his 
turbulent heart. Slowly, almost with a drawl, but with 
as much assurance as Mr. Lewis, yea more for he 
knew . . . 

“Mr. Lewis, I too, have a story to tell. I can not tell 
it as interestingly, as smoothly, as connectedly, possibly 
as you have told yours, but it is just as strange, just as 
true. I believe I can supply every missing link, or bet¬ 
ter, tell the other half of your story, which will certainly 
fit in exactly with everything you have said. Believe me, 
it will make a complete whole. But I am growing so 
overwrought or excited I can scarcely articulate and be¬ 
fore I get inarticulate I must ask about my father—is he 
in this city? Where is he?” 

“He is at his home, Newport News, Virginia.” 

“Newport News, Virginia,” Daniel repeated as if in 
deep thought to himself. 

“Mr. Lewis, I believe, yea, I know , I am the son of 
the father you have shown me by your extraordinary 
talent at word painting and I am leaving for Newport 
News the first train out. 

“Can you imagine my feelings? Could anything on 
earth be more wonderfully strange? Did I say all life 
is a tragedy . . . ? Newport News, Virginia! My God, 
I thank Thee the mystery, the uncertainty of mine is 
ended.” Getting to his feet, his arms raised at full length 



Lean and Lank 


141 


above his head, his nervous, overwrought body shook the 
whole room. 

“I feel for you, Dan, you have my deepest, most sincere 
sympathies and congratulations as paradoxical as that 
sounds. I can not know, of course, but I can imagine 
how you feel and I do most earnestly offer you my serv¬ 
ices. Sit down, drink this, you will feel better.” 

Daniel obeyed as promptly as confidently as a child— 
he sat down and thirstily drank the drops poured into 
the glass of water, as Mr. Lewis continued talking, “I 
can assure you I have never done a piece of work of 
which I have such just cause to be proud, happy—to re¬ 
joice in such a glorious climax. 

“I know the schedule of every train leaving here going 
east,—here is a time table. Next train leaves at 3:45, 
it is now two. As it will probably take sometime to get 
our belongings together, and we have only one hour and 
forty-five minutes, I suggest that I go with you to get 
your luggage. We can get mine as we come back on our 
way to the depot. But first I must wire your father we 
are leaving, not mentioning route—he would be on the 
road in a minute and miss us. His best place is home. 
The best, most logical place for you to meet him is in 
your own home. I would not let him know, until we 
reached our last stop before reaching Newport News had 
I not sworn to do so. He would never forgive me, if I 
waited one moment longer than absolutely necessary. 

“And, too, the shock may prove too much for him as 
he has been quite sick. The knowledge that you have 
been found, though he confidently expected it, notwith¬ 
standing the many futile trips and efforts made, might 
so overwhelm him with joy, I fear for his heart. I ex¬ 
pect I had better ’phone or wire his intimate friend and 
neighbor, F. M. Warren, so he can go in person and tell 
him. It will be almost as quick and direct and lots safer 
than to wire him, don’t you think?” Daniel raised his 
head—it had been bowed upon his hands since taking the 
drops and languidly said: 



142 


Lean and Lank 


“Use your own judgment, Mr. Lewis. I am totally 
incapable of advising.” 

“Where is your baggage.” 

“On this same floor, room 92, wing to left. It amounts 
to but little. My only business obligation is to notify my 
employer that I resign the work I had just accepted when 
I encountered the bully and newsy. I can do that by 
'phone. I have no further business, no social affilia¬ 
tions. I can be ready to leave the city in thirty minutes.” 

“So can I.” 

“I will get my luggage together while you get yours, 
unless I can get yours for you while you send your mes¬ 
sage.” 

“I keep my belongings, what few I have — packed 
ready to go anywhere on a moment’s notice. The wire 
is already worded in my brain, has been for sometime, 
so you go ahead and meet me here in thirty minutes.” 

The telegram was sent. Mr. Lewis did not wait for a 
reply—he dared not. “Had I waited until this juncture 
to have worded this message, I do not believe I could have, 
so that anyone could have deciphered it intelligently 
enough to have known what I was talking about; I have 
never been so affected.” 

Mr. Lewis could not analyze the force, the power, the 
supernatural something which had made the Foster, Sr., 
so sure of the place, so sure of the find. There was some¬ 
thing uncanny about the whole procedure he could not 
understand. He was baffled beyond any reasonable solu¬ 
tion of the mystery, for it was nothing short of a miracle. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

While the train was winding its cautious way east¬ 
ward, the two men were in earnest conversation. 

“Tell me, Daniel, tell me your story. I really never 
have been as mystified, never been as impatient to have 
a mystery cleared up.” 

Daniel wheeled his chair around so as to face Mr. 




Lean and Lank 


143 


Lewis, sitting with feet straight in front he stretched 
his slender frame to its capacity, with hands clasped be¬ 
hind his head, and after a long minute began in easy 
converse: 

“Of course you know, Mr. Lewis, I remember nothing 
of Newport News, nothing of my mother and father; the 
ride on the train; the catastrophe which caused such 
disasterous, such unbelievable melancholy, fatal histories. 
There has always been a hazy, half fact, half fancy, 
dream-like realm in my brain which I have never before 
been able to classify satisfactorily—sort of half mystery, 
half belief feeling a very young child has when some one 
reads or tells Aladdin or The Wonderful Lamp to them. 
I have some vague idea of a big, black negro woman hav¬ 
ing me,—was there a nurse with us on the train ?” 

“Yes, but she was a small, light brown woman. She 
was killed, they found her body near your mother’s.” 

“Well, there is a black, fat negress mixed up with my 
very early history somewhere. But my first real awaken¬ 
ing was when I was about four and a half years old. 
There was an old lady whom we called 'Granny.’ I can 
hear her now saying: 'Jim, I think we had better take 
this child back to the orphans’ asylum, for his parents 
might come for him yet, I really think it wrong to take 
him so far away.’ I seem faintly to recall they were 
moving to Montana or somewhere far West. I was taken 
to the orphans’ home where I remember I cried after 
'Granny and Jim’ left me. I remember but little that 
occurred while I was there, but I do recollect, vividly, the 
feeling of lack of freedom, the loss of the personal love 
and attention ‘Granny’ had given me with her grand¬ 
children. I think of her as a kindly old soul, with soft 
brown eyes, a sweet face framed with snowy hair. I 
believe I would know her from a thousand were I to see 
her today. I recollect very distinctly how she marveled 
at the way I could talk; how well I pronounced my words 
and how well versed in knowing my name and age. I 
have heard her say lots of times—‘why don’t you children 
learn to say your name as completely and as distinctly as 



144 


Lean and Lank 


Daniel Foster does?’ I remember her saying that that 
was one reason that made her insist upon ‘Jim’ letting 
her keep ‘the little fellow because he talked so distinctly, 
so politely, so sweetly.’ I guess I must have been lone¬ 
some for Granny and Jim—(I had nor have I any idea 
who they were other than Granny and Jim) that made 
me become dissatisfied at the asylum. At any rate when 
I was about seven I ran away.” 

As the almost mystical, puzzle was being raveled, the 
worldly, strong man who had been involved in so much; 
so many hard, sad, blood-curdling escapades—enough to 
be calloused to any and all tender feelings or sympathies, 
wiped the tears from his eyes more than once as he saw 
the little beggarly waif plodding along the lonely road 
in the late afternoon, the sun almost gone, with all his 
earthly belongings wrapped up and tied in the tiny blouse 
and tucked under his arm; — what w*eird, strange 
thoughts must have filled the little fellow’s brain. With¬ 
out parents, without relatives, friends, acquaintances; no 
home, nowhere to go, nowhere to sleep, nothing to eat. 

Very vividly, very graphically was the picture pre¬ 
sented. 

What strangeness, what lonesomeness, what terror, 
what fearful apprehensions must have filled the little 
chaps heart and brain, when the “shades of night” had 
fallen and he dragged his little tired, hungry body under 
a woman’s front doorstep, having selected that place for 
the sole reason the woman’s face wore a kindly smile as 
she closed and locked her front door. He felt she was 
not locking him out, but in, for the child-like trust and 
instinct told him unmistakably by the expression on her 
face, that she would not harm him or let others harm 
him if she knew why he was there. 

Mr. Lewis’ heart warmed toward Robert Bishop, the 
little waif’s sympathizer and defender. He lived in the 
haven of the permanent shelter and protection with the 
little newsboys and their tired, overworked mother and 
friend. Lived with them in their little boxed-up “lean- 
to.” Sat at the small, pine table and ate the frugal fare. 



Lean and Lank 


145 


(“I will look them up when next I am in that section of 
country” he stored aw T ay in his subconscious mind). 

His heart swelled with gratitude and appreciation as 
he realized there were great, honest-to-goodness, good 
human men in the world who could and did see, know and 
appreciate real worth though covered with rags— 
shrunken with poverty and privations; and big and wise 
enough to give them a chance. (“I will look the Judge 
and his wife up, too,”—he again subconsciously stored 
away). 

When the tragic episode of Daniel's innermost heart 
was reached, when the holiest of holies had to be dragged 
out again; to bear his heart to another man; hard, bit¬ 
ter lines formed about his mouth— (the peculiar curl of 
his lips that had made him so attractive in childhood and 
youth was almost entirely obliterated — hard straight 
lines, having taken their place—save at times)—his eyes 
fired, his face paled. Daniel hesitated, finally stopped. 
But the narrative must go on. 

Mr. Lewis noticed the hesitating, noticed the cold, 
metallic, hard ring gaining ascendancy in his voice— 
and thought of the unhealthy reaction and evidenced the 
cause. He began searching his mind for a way to help 
Daniel along with the narrative without any more em¬ 
barrassment than was absolutely necessary. He probed, 
and probed, but to no avail. Finally: 

“It makes no difference to me what you did that caused 
you to change your name,—don’t let that bother you one 
moment. No one need ever know. Besides any man, 
any set of men, would pardon, would exonerate you for 
doing anything in the light of what you have revealed. 
You have certainly been steadfast and true-blue up to 
now, and let me say just here, that I know it was noth¬ 
ing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of on your part; noth¬ 
ing mean, dishonorable or cowardly.” 

The word “coward” struck home. Daniel winced as if 
annoyed by some sudden, sharp pain. He smiled a 
sickly smile saying: “Well, I don’t know. Sometimes 



146 


Lean and Lank 


I have been persuaded that I was just that, that I am a 
despicable coward. The same reason that man has given 
since the beginning of time—since Adam blamed Eve 
for his fall, I give. A woman . . . ” 

“I thought so ... ” 

“Do not for one moment infer from what I said that 
she was not all that a woman should be or could be,” 
quickly interrupted Daniel. “Remember, Mr. Lewis, this 
is grave yard . . . ,” he paused. “I loved her with all 
the passion of my soul, with every atom of my fresh, 
ardent young manhood. I worshipped while I loved her. 
I never dreamed that I did not have the right to love 
her. I knew I was a man. I had endeavored, with my 
every faculty, aided by every good book, by experience 
and observation, to be a man in the truest, fullest, clean¬ 
est sense. I had a most wonderful example of a perfect 
man walk daily before me in the personage of Judge Al¬ 
ston Farris. 

“She loved me. We were engaged. One night she was 
informed in my presence, by a town gossip, carrion-crow 
of society, that I was an unknown tramp, did not know 
whether my name was Brown, White, Smith or Jones. 
She pictured our children as being taunted by my ille¬ 
gitimacy and so on, ad infinitum. 

“I could have denied I had been a tramp but for twenty- 
four or forty-eight hours, and that when a child of six or 
seven years; but I could not deny I did not know my 
father and mother, nor from whence I came. I think all 
would have been well even then, but my—my—affianced 
bride shivered at my touch. I could not endure that. I 
could not make her suffer more; so I left that night with 
only a short note asking that she forgive me for loving 
her—allowing her to love me, though I was entirely inno¬ 
cent of the fact that I had no right to love her; no right 
to her heart, her hand, not even her acquaintance. I 
changed my name simply by spelling my sir name back- 



Lean and Lank 


147 


ward and swapping places with my initials.” He took a 
memorandum from his pocket and wrote B. D. Retsof— 
D. B. Foster, “See?—So you understand I am no im¬ 
poster.—Since that night I have been a rover.” Daniel 
closed his eyes, leaned far back in his chair. 

Mr. Lewis took the leaflet, glanced at the names, the 
handwriting. Taking a card from his pocket signed by 
the elder Foster, he compared them, placed them upon 
Daniel’s knee—“See any resemblances?” 

“Yes, some. An expert in chirography would see 
much resemblance.” Daniel merely glanced at the cards 
again, then closed his eyes. “I have gone from place to 
place; I have been to practically every country on the 
globe trying to decide whether I am the most dastardly, 
cowardly devil on earth, or whether I did the only honor¬ 
able thing I could have done under the circumstances. I 
am still undecided.” Again the hard lines around the 
mouth, the deep furrow between the eyes. 

There was silence. The only sound heard above the 
trumming by Mr. Lewis with the two cards on the arm 
of the seat, was the continuous, monotonous, low purring 
sound of the fast moving cars. 

“Daniel, I don’t think you were a coward. I think 
your fine, sensitive nature, your ideas and ideals as to 
what a man should be to the woman he loves well enough 
to ask her to be his wife, to be the mother of his children, 
simply outweighed any selfish feeling, any selfish desire 
on your part. You pitted her future happiness, against 
the happiness of the quickly passing present; against the 
possible complications brought about by possible, very 
probable off-spring, by the venomous tongues of slander¬ 
ous gossip. I think you have shown yourself an ex¬ 
tremely brave, upright man; one that any woman would 
exonerate, yea, appreciate, have higher respect, greater 
love for, knowing conditions, and I am doubly glad for 
you, now that your name is clear and you can reinstate 
yourself in the love and life of your sweetheart.” 



148 


Lean and Lank 


Daniel could not make reply for some time. With eyes 
still closed, in low unnatural voice: “Thank you, Mr. 
Lewis, for your candor, for your intended kindness, but 
such happiness can never be mine. I was made to under¬ 
stand she married in less than a year after I left her.” 
His jaws set as an intolerable pain gripped his heart— 
Daniel turned his face toward the window. Mr. Lewis 
began again the tapping of the cards on the arm of the 
seat, his eyes taking on a dreamy, far-off look. 

“The last call for supper, Daniel, let us go,” quietly 
broke the silence of a half hour. 

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis, I couldn’t eat. Go ahead, 
order your dinner, I’ll join you presently for a cup of 
hot coffee or milk,” without changing his position. 

As Mr. Lewis passed out, Daniel bowed his face upon 
his hands, grasped his hair with maniacal mien, as he 
prayed, “My God, my God, do not forsake me, now I 
need your strong arm more than ever.” 

Mr. Lewis had about finished his dinner when Daniel 
appeared looking ten years older than when he had seen 
him turn on his heels and briskly walk away from the 
little newsboy he had so unceremoniously protected. His 
gait, his every feature reflected the gnawing at his heart. 
He slightly shook and raised his body, then sat opposite 
his friend and slowly drank two glasses of hot milk as 
he talked of trivial things the while,—recklessly, hope¬ 
lessly. 

They went to their berths, retired for the night. Mr. 
Lewis to sleep soundly—Daniel to toss and roll. “What’s 
the use, what’s the use,” he reiterated again and again. 
“My victory is swallowed up in worse than death. When 
I see my father’s face, grasp his hand, feel the pressure 
of his hands upon my head; know that I am really his, 
he mine—the first and only human on earth I have ever 
had a right to; then see my mother’s picture, learn the 
sweet memories I am sure my father has kept fresh, 
blooming in his heart for his own comfort and to pass 
on to his son, I hope God will see fit to end my life,— 



Lean and Lank 


149 


I know I am a coward for I do not believe, I know I can¬ 
not carry on further. ,, 

He was frantic, wild. He got up, raised his shade and 
peered into the outer darkness of the night too miserable, 
too distraught to even try to sleep. 

His bloodless face, dark circled eyes told of hours of 
weary waiting. 

Mr. Lewis talked of the weather; calculated the rate 
of speed they were then traveling; talked of the stock 
market—the rise in cotton yesterday, the fall last week; 
—speculated on wheat,—present prices; the causes and 
results of the unstable market prices on all commodities. 
He made guesses as to what would be the next great in¬ 
vention for the betterment of mankind. Expatiated at 
some length and with strong expletives on the presiden¬ 
tial timber. What would be the next great discovery in 
the science of medicine and surgery. He made very ex¬ 
treme assertions on some of the topics, in order to raise 
enough interest, or antagonism in his companion for a 
mild debate,—but he elicited only a nod, a whimsical 
smile, an occasional “Yes,” “No,” “I think so,” from 
Daniel. 

“This milk toast is excellent, Daniel, and piping hot, 
have some . . .” 

“Just a small slice, please. This cup of hot coffee, the 
dry buttered toast with this baked apple will be enough, 
thank you.” 

The time dragged wearily, lengthily on . . . 

“I think we are to have a few minutes wait at this 
next stop, possibly twenty minutes. The last one before 
reaching Newport. We will have time aplenty for a 
brisk walk uptown. I would like to speak with an old 
friend I haven’t seen in several years.” Mr. Lewis got 
to his feet. “Just keep your seat, I will get our hats 
and overcoats.” 

Mr. Lewis took a note he had written the night before 
from his pocket, transferred it to an outside pocket of 
his top coat, pulled the flap over it, reached the door as 



150 


Lean and Lank 


the train was beginning to stop. He helped Daniel on 
with his coat, both men put on their hats and started in 
half run—Daniel grateful for the change, the fresh air 
and sunshine. 

They found the old man in. As Daniel turned to re¬ 
trace his steps, Mr. Lewis placed the note with full in¬ 
structions in his friend’s hand and hurried off. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

The train began creeping through the suburbs of 
Newport News. Daniel looked out the window. “Near¬ 
ing the city of my birth.” The train stopped. Daniel 
stepped upon the platform. As he was carried on with 
the crowd, he glanced backward at the train and the 
coach. “This is the depot my father comes to when he 
boards a train from home. The same building, no doubt, 
I passed through with father, mother and nurse nearly 
twenty-four years ago or was it twenty-four years?” 
As they passed on, Daniel glanced backward. He looked 
upon the crowds passing in and out. His father’s friends, 
some of them—which ones? Some of the older ones had 
known him as a tiny boy—which ones ? He stood gazing 
abstractedly around as Mr. Lewis was giving hurried in¬ 
struction to the taxi driver whom he seemed to know 
quite well. 

Mr. Lewis seemed to be in a great hurry. He said to 
Daniel. “Follow me,” in tone to be obeyed as they left 
the train, and rushed on merely raising his hand and 
smiling to those who spoke; it seemed to Daniel that 
every one spoke. 

As Mr. Lewis caught his arm, handed him in, the taxi 
promptly moved away, then Daniel was conscious of 
people beginning to stare, the first they knew he was 
with Mr. Lewis. 

As they approached the home—Daniel forgot for a 
few brief moments his sorrows. (Mr. Lewis had tipped 
the driver off, giving Daniel time to do exactly as he was 




Lean and Lank 


151 


doing.) As the taxi came to a full stop before the house, 
which sat far back, with hedges of well kept shrubbery, 
Daniel peered out and remained seated, thinking, seem¬ 
ingly, unconsciously aloud (Mr. Lewis did not move, nor 
did he make a reply). “Can this really be my home, my 
father's, my mother's home? Was I born here? Is it 
possible? Was it on these grounds under these trees my 
mother taught me to walk twenty-five years ago; taught 
me to talk so plainly that in that way—in that way only, 
I was able to retain my identity, the proud Foster 
patronymic?" Then as to himself, “If ever I have chil¬ 
dren that is certainly the first lesson they shall learn; to 
pronounce their full names perfectly, so there will be no 
possible chance for mistake ..." He turned, looked 
questioningly at Mr. Lewis (the chauffeur had sat as 
a statue looking neither to right nor left). Mr. Lewis 
put his hand heavily upon Daniel’s knee, got up and out. 
Daniel followed. 

A mighty switch had been released flooding the city 
with light, but the home they were entering was ablaze 
from every window, though shades were closely drawn. 
Mr. Foster had ordered his car to be brought two hours 
later, but hearing the chug of an engine, the car stop 
in front of his door, he got up and looked out. He had 
been anxiously, restlessly, impatiently, rejoicingly wait¬ 
ing, since the telegram had been delivered to him more 
than four days ago, he was beside himself with indescrib¬ 
able joy,—joy that was almost pain. He did not know 
whether the error in time of their arrival was made by 
mistake or intentional on Mr. Lewis' part,—he did not 
stop to decipher; “that is my boy, my son; that is Daniel 
Foster, Jr.," as he gazed out upon the approaching 
figures; then dropped the curtain and almost groped his 
way across the room and to the door. 

The front door swung wide on its hinges and “My 
boy, my son, my son!" softly, gently, caressingly spoken 
was the only audible sound for some moments as the two 
stood locked in each others arms. Tears were flowing 



152 


Lean and Lank 


down Mr. Lewis’ cheeks in true sympathy for the joy, the 
satisfaction of soul, being experienced by father and son. 

“Come in Lewis and close the door.” 

“No, I am through for the day and night—I ’phoned 
my wife I would be with her at home at six and I will 
have to hurry if I make it—she will be waiting. Good¬ 
night,” and he was gone, leaving father and son alone. 

Mr. Foster knew the early arrival was intended. 

“Stand there, son. Now turn round slowly so I can 
get every ear mark. My beautiful boy! My handsome 
son! Beautiful, because your mother called you that; 
now I say handsome, because you are a man. Can it be 
possible after all these years of heart hunger, fear, 
anxiety and every other discomfort and distraction pos¬ 
sible for a man to experience in like fate; is it possible, 
is it a fact, I am at last permitted to hold you in my 
arms, look into your face, hear your voice, hear you 
call me Father once agan? How sweetly you used 
to say, 'Farver,’ and ‘Muvver,’ when you first learned 
to talk. How your mother would snatch you to her heart 
and kiss you every time you said it. You seemed to enjoy 
it for you said it so often that before you were two years 
old you pronounced your name and Mother and Father 
as distinctly as she or I.” 

“How infinitely grateful and thankful I am, my Father, 
nothing else matters now!” and again tears of absolute 
thanks coursed down the father’s face. So appealing 
was he that Daniel threw himself upon his knees at his 
father’s feet, his arms across his body, hid his face 
upon his breast, heart to heart as he had when a baby 
of three. 

Dinner had been ordered served at eight o’clock. When 
it was ready neither man paid attention to the announce¬ 
ment. 

“Just clear the table, Henry, neither of us wish any¬ 
thing except a cup of hot coffee and cheese toastie, bring 
them here, I want you and the others to see my son any¬ 
way,” called Mr. Foster when Henry finally caught his 
attention. 



Lean and Lank 


153 


The services of the best chef in the city had been 
engaged to make this a feast of good things and good 
cheer for the son “who was lost and is found” (not 
prodigal). And again unlike the wandering son of Bibli¬ 
cal lore, no friends for merry making and promiscuous 
excessive rejoicing had been invited. The elder Foster 
wanted his long lost son alone and in the quiet of his 
baby-hood home where he felt the mother love still hov¬ 
ering over “my beautiful boy.” It would have been dese¬ 
cration, sacrilege, to have had it otherwise. 

Henry conveyed the spirit of the hour to the others of 
the household. The coffee and toasties were served in 
quiet dignity. In pronounced respect for the master they 
had served, so long and so well, each payed his respects 
to the master's son, only one of which had known him as 
a baby—“Aunt Mandy” who still held undisputed sway in 
the kitchen. She put her arms around Daniel, bowed her 
grey head, kissed his hand, made a deep courtesy and 
wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron followed 
the last one out, closing the door softly as she went out . . 
“Aunt Mandy” had grown old, thin, and wrinkled in the 
service of the Fosters. 

“You must sleep in the room with me for a while, 
Daniel, I have had two beds put in. I cannot let you out 
of my sight for a long while yet. 

“Son, you are the living image of your angel mother. 
Made in as perfect masculine mold as she was a perfect 
woman. You have her starry brown eyes, her long curl¬ 
ing lashes. Your mouth is larger, but with the exact ir¬ 
resistible twinkle, I called it—the exact expression. The 
same shaped face. She had the most adorable nose and I 
used to kiss her on it, right here, almost as often as I did 
her mouth. Yours is an exact facsimile, only larger, of 
course. Oh, son, I am so glad you are like her, like your 
mother,—would she were with us tonight.” 

The first paroxisms of joy having spent themselves, 
father and son made ready for bed. After which they 
slipped on their pullman robes and slippers, freshened 



154 


Lean and Lank 


up the fire, switched off the lights, lighted cigars and 
made themselves comfortable in large winged chairs. 

“How very selfish I have been, son, I have not let you 
talk much, I have been looking, looking; wondering, won¬ 
dering; talking, talking, not giving you the ghost of a 
chance. It doesn’t matter whether we go to bed ’till 
morning, we can sleep all tomorrow and night and right 
on until we naturally awake. I will write a bulletin, put 
it on the outer door so Henry will know not to disturb 
us. I have already given orders, but this will clinch 
them.” 

The bulletin was written and tacked to the outer door. 

“Now tell me everything, everything , son.” 

As Daniel talked it seemed to the father that he had the 
nicest, most pleasing, most resonant voice he ever heard, 
like deep distant thunder mingled with silvery rain drops. 
“I wonder if he sings, if he is especially fond of music 
and song,—his mother loved them so,” he reflected. 

“How I got to Tennessee, so far away will ever be a 
mystery, I guess. Of one thing I am convinced, every 
child should be taught his full address,—the city and 
state of his birth—together with his full name.” (Daniel 
seemed obsessed with that thought—what it would have 
meant to him, and to so many others had he only known). 
“My first tangible impressions awoke when I was in the 
home of a kindly old lady we called 'Granny’ and her 
son 'Jim’—I guess he was her son. There were several 
other children, one smaller, two larger than I,—Jim’s I 
reckon.” 

Then followed a full account of all memories there. 
Then the years at the orphan’s home; of his running 
away, “looking for Granny and Jim I guess,” he smiled. 
(“Simply looking, starving, dying for love,”—the father 
knew as he brushed a tear from his eyes, tears that would 
come in spite of himself—“for he loved his mother and 
grandmothers devotedly, he was such a loving, such an 
affectionate baby”). 

Then of the bully beating him for a trivial, nothing,— 
for merely bumping into him accidentally—slightly, but 



Lean and Lank 


155 


enough to cause him to drop the piece of candy he was 
eating—another boy as accidentally stepped on the candy 
mashing it flat and otherwise making it unfit for use. 

Of Robert’s interference and protection; of the names 
Lean and Lank being bestowed upon them by the crowd 
which they always clung to in private for sentiment— 
for pure love and regard each had for the other. Of his 
home with Robert and his mother. 

As he told of the home; of their mode of living, the 
washing and ironing and eating; of their scant supply of 
clothes; how they saved and pooled their money for school 
necessities; of attending night school,—the father became 
too overcome for Daniel to continue for some moments, 
but not a word did he utter. 

As he told of the meeting with Judge Farris; the thou¬ 
sand dollars left by the kind, eccentric old man; of Lank’s 
misfortunes; the unstolen twenty dollar bill and his un¬ 
fortunate injuries on the eve of his first job when the 
wolf was howling so loudly at their door. Again the 
elder man was touched too deeply for Daniel to be heard. 

He told of Uncle Robert’s timely and wonderful offer; 
of Mrs. Bishop’s acceptance of the offer; of their last 
meal together in their humble home; how peculiarly they 
felt, sadness and gloom mixed with gladness and delight; 
of his desperate lonely feelings he had of not having a 
home; though the uncle had graciously included him in 
his beneficence. 

Then of the proffered home with Judge Farris and his 
wife and under what conditions it was accepted. The 
magnificent, the homey home and the happy, profitable 
years lived there. What a mother, father—friends, bene¬ 
factors they had been to him; of his college and Univer¬ 
sity days; his ambitions. A peculiar smile of mingled 
pleasure and I-thought-as-much expression passed over 
the father’s face—he actually smiled out loud—as Daniel 
told of his and Robert’s wishes and desires about the war 
and of Robert’s service. He told of his business career 
(but of his unusual and phenominal rise to prominence 
in the affairs of the world he did not speak). Daniel 



156 


Lean and Lank 


talked on and on, he felt strangely at ease, peculiarly 
comfortable and at rest. “His father,” “his home” would 
flit involuntarily through his mind as his eyes would 
catch a vision of some new object, he hadn't noticed be¬ 
fore. 

The father was delighted, tense with pride, joy, love 
and satisfaction. He could see the tender sympathy, the 
fair dealings, the untiring zeal and ambition of the 
mother, shed abroad in the life of her son. He sat with 
his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes on the fire 
when not on his boy's face, fervently listening. 

Then Daniel's mien changed. 

He must go on with the narrative. He had tried to 
leave Jo out entirely, the part she had played in his life. 
He didn’t see how he could drag out his soul again, even 
for his father to behold, yet he could not honorably finish 
until,—why he had changed his name, why the insatiate 
wanderings, had been explained. His eyes fell, and only 
the exceeding quiet of the room made it possible for the 
father’s eager ears to catch every word. 

Daniel did not waver when once begun. He told the 
cause, the reasons why he left Jo and the manner of 
leaving. He left nothing, where she was concerned, to 
be guessed. Then in slightly louder, in vibrant voice— 
“and father as gloriously heavenly as knowing and being 
with you; of learning the sweet, precious memories and 
seeing the pictures of my beautiful mother; of living in 
this, my almost palatial home. I had rather have gone on, 
finished my course as a nameless waif, the unknown wan¬ 
derer B. D. Retsof, than to have to endure this unuttera¬ 
ble longing, enhanced a thousand fold by this ...” He 
leaned his forehead upon his clenched fists as they rested 
upon his knees. 

The father’s eyes flashed. Springing to his feet, every 
bone, muscle, sinew, grew stiff, rigid. He was beside 
himself, unable to control his angry passion. Biting his 
lips he almost hissed in cold, angered voice, through 
closely clamped teeth. “Hell is too good for some char¬ 
acters. The tongue has caused more utter ruin and damna- 



Lean and Lank 


157 


tion to indiyiduals and nations than all other causes on 
earth combined.” His excessive anger convulsed his 
whole being, and for a long minute completely overcame 
his habitual conservative demeanor. He as suddenly 
reined himself up taut and after a few brief minutes was 
exceedingly quiet. 

Placing his hands gently upon his son’s bowed head; 
who had not looked up had not moved during his father’s 
furious outburst, continued in mellow, well modulated 
voice, “But it is all over now, my son, thank God, all un¬ 
certainties are at an end. I will go to her with you at 
once, so she,—so no one can have further doubt or fear 
as to your patrimony—beyond all possible doubt, estab¬ 
lish your identity.” 

“She is another man’s wife—there is no possible hope.” 

“Married, my son! How long ?” again he bit his lips. 

“She married in less than a year after I left her,” bit¬ 
terly spake Daniel, without raising his eyes. 

“Another’s wife and so soon? My son, I fear she did 
not love you as a woman should the man she marries, 
as I wish the woman to love whom my son weds. That 
being true, no doubt you will have ample, just cause to 
rejoice that you lost her.” 

Daniel clenched his fists, raised a flushed face, got to 
his feet, flashing his eyes to his father’s, “She did love 
me. I cannot let even you destroy that little spark of 
heaven left within me. I know she loved me as inex¬ 
pressibly as I loved her, but she thought I did not love 
her. She thought I had deceived, had lied to her, and she 
tried to hate me, tried to find solace, comfort and love in 
the arms of another. Not the best way, I grant you, but 
she was miserable, disappointed and it caught her on 
the rebound. If it had to be as it is, I hope she is happy, 
though the thought that some other man brings her hap¬ 
piness is the maddening, the bitter—the bitter thing in 
my life.” His head dropped forward. As he sat down 
his body grew as motionless as if life were truly extinct. 
For a long while only the passing automobile, the tick- 
tock of the large, floor, grand-father’s clock were heard. 



158 


Lean and Lank 


“My, son, I love you, I am exceedingly proud of you. 
Do not let your first night at home, after an absence of 
twenty-three years, be filled with gloom; clouded with 
unpleasant forebodings; tinged with bitterness. Try to 
believe, try to think that everything will work out for 
your good, for the good of all. I believe that it will. Some 
day we will all be able to understand.” 

After another long silence the father continued: “I 
wired the happy news of your home-coming to your 
grandparents and others, they were overcome with joy. 
Grandmother had to have the doctor and be put to bed. 
The old folks are too feeble to travel alone, so we are to 
go to them as soon as practicable. It was to them, to their 
home we were going when the awful tragedy happened 
which caused me to lose your mother, your baby sister 
and you. 

“The families on both sides have given me credit, I 
think, for being somewhat demented,—my clinging to the 
idea that I would some day find you. They knew it was 
as impossible as I knew it was possible and felt highly 
probable. That phase of the dementia will be released, I 
judge, ha, ha,” and a satisfied, contented, happy smile 
illuminated his countenance,—then the features grew 
passive. 

Then for the first time, Daniel learned of his mother's 
condition when she was hurled into eternity. 

Turning toward his father, putting his hand comfort¬ 
ingly upon his arm he said, with more feeling than he 
had ever yet expressed, “You, too, have suffered,” and 
bowed his face upon his hands. 

“Yes, I have suffered, only the Allwise knows how 
much . . . . ” 

“But you endure valiantly, like a brave man, I, like a 
fool 

“Do not upbraid yourself so harshly, so bitterly. I 
tasted my joy. I held my wife, the mother of my babies 
in my arms, I kissed and fondled my baby boy. Providence 
saw fit to make my happiness short lived; you had the cup 
of joy snatched from your hands while in the act of 



Lean and Lank 


159 


drinking, by the malicious tongue of slander, by unfair, 
unkind, unscrupulous cruel human agencies, which en¬ 
gender remorse, stir up strife, force a desire for ven¬ 
geance, a hellish longing to take them by the throat and 
hold them fast ’till dead. Simply a case of Providence 
against human, the one to accept in anguished, reconciled 
sadness, the other unreconciled, maddening anger, an al¬ 
most unconquerable desire for revenge.” Another long 
pause. 

“Daniel, my son, you are far spent, go to bed and to 
sleep. When we waken on the morrow be it early or late 
—may we be able to cast all bitterness, all sorrow and 
pain behind us—cling only to sweet memories and each 
other. Face the future with hope resolving to start life 
anew, and by the help and love for each other and God, 
round out useful, well spent lives. You—we both have 
wonderful opportunities for much good work. You espe¬ 
cially, my son, are young and strong, both in mind and 
body—life is only beginning, my boy. Only twenty-seven 
tomorrow, too soon to give up, entirely too soon to lose 
hope.” 

“Father, I left her broken, of course, but I worked,—I 
worked hard at any and every job that presented itself, it 
made no difference what kind of work. The memory of 
her was sweet, was precious to my soul. I simply had to 
let some form of hard manual labor help me bear the 
pain. So, as I said, I worked, worked like the devil— 
you can imagine. I have often laughed wild, hellish 
laughs at what my former friends and associates would 
have said, could they have seen the 'most promising 
young financier in the state,’ 'doing his daily dozen.’ I 
had to do it to live. But when Bob’s letter failed to come! 
The first week I did fairly well, I thought possibly the 
letter was missent or delayed; but when I stayed in that 
place longer than any since leaving Brazil and still no let¬ 
ter—the first of another month came, passed and still 
not a letter—all hope died, ambition with it. I almost 
lost my belief in an all wise, a just God. I cared for noth¬ 
ing—what was there in life for me, anyway? At such 



160 


Lean and Lank 


times I drank myself into oblivion. I laughed at any and 
every man who even seemed to think a woman loved him; 
I knew if Jo could forget me that quick, give her lips and 
arms, her entire self to another, forget so entirely what 
she had been and meant to me, that they were all cheats, 
all false, all liars and deceivers. I had often wondered 
before how any sane man could act as some did about a 
woman, but pshaw! I did not, do not blame them one 
whit for anything they do, even to murder and suicide/' 

Not another word was spoken aloud that night. Both 
men sat dreaming some minutes, then in one accord 
slipped off their robes and slippers, went to bed and to 
sleep. Daniel turning his face down on the pillow saying 
softly, unheard. “To sleep on my own bed, in my own 
home; and such a bed, such a home, such a father! God, 
forgive all the hard, ugly bitter feelings and thoughts 
my disappointment has wrung from me and help me to 
awake on the morrow ready and able to do and to dare." 

The father turning his face away, in prayerful atti¬ 
tude said softly, unheard, “I hope he will sleep until 
afternoon, then maybe he will be stronger and better 
when he wakes. I hope so, oh, I hope so. Poor boy, my 
son! How much he had to suffer when so young; hunger, 
cold, heat, wet,—in poverty and rags. My son a waif, a 
shoe-black—a dependent! My son, my son! 

“Now disappointed in love. I do so regret that. Such 
an awful blow for a man to think he has misunderstood 
and been misunderstood by the woman he loved, re¬ 
spected, revered as he did his God. Disappointed in the 
woman he chose above all others to ‘love and cherish so 
long as you both shall live.' He has had much, much to 
overcome, but he will be a better, stronger man for the 
experience." 

The sun had about reached its meridian before the 
older man saw signs of wakefulness in his boy. Daniel, 
seeing his father awake, turned comfortably on his side, 
faced his father, drew up his knees slightly, put his arm 
at right angle under his head, so as to raise it and cor- 




Lean and Lank 


161 


dially, cheerfully called out with some of his erstwhile 
levity. 

“Good morning, Dad. Think of it, born again at the 
age of twenty-seven into my father’s life and home. You 
can’t know how really refreshing and exhilarating the 
sensation! Very like the one I used to experience when 
a tiny boy (every child feels, I judge) at hearing my 
teachers tell or read a real interesting fairy or Arabian 
Knights story. 

“To know you are my father, to know this is my own 
beautiful home, the one mother shared with us. To know 
the exact date of my birth. I knew the month not the 
day—think of a man of ordinary intelligence, in this 
twentieth century arriving at the age of twenty-seven, a 
quarter of a century, plus, and not know his exact age. 
Some record, I say. May I be the only human ever thus 
trammeled, ever thus shackled! 

“I hope you slept as well and feel as well as I do this 
morning or afternoon, which is it? Nearly twelve—well, 
we slept late alright.” 

The father had assumed the same comfortable posture, 
as his son, and grew younger each minute as he rejoiced 
in the good-natured repartee of his boy, which continued 
until breakfast was announced. 

After a bath, a breakfast—exquisite in every appoint¬ 
ment. At his plate Daniel found a handsome, hand 
carved watch and chain and a check for twenty-seven 
thousand dollars. On the attached card he read: “A 
thousand dollars for every year. No more joy in my 
heart your first birthday than on this your twenty- 
seventh, my dear son. God bless you,” written in bold, 
blunt type. 

His childish wish and oath to have a watch like Judge 
Farris’ flitted through his brain. He smiled. Judge Far¬ 
ris’ watch was handsome—his regal. 

As he removed the watch he was wearing and fitted 
the kingly gift in his pocket and adjusted the chain a 
pensive smile overcast his face as he thought of his watch 
of quartz and bead chain,—his mascot, his luck-piece. 



162 


Lean and Lank 


Then a tour of the place and exploration of every 
cranny and crevice of house and grounds in company 
with his father. 

“Father is this your and mother’s original home?” 

“No, son, this is Grandmother and Grandfather Fos¬ 
ter’s home. I was the youngest child, the only boy. The 
three girls married, had homes and families of their own 
before I married. Father and mother being old, begged 
that your mother and I live with them, giving us the 
home as a bridal present. So we did. Your mother said 
she would ‘love to and besides they were too old and 
dear to live in that big house all alone.’ 

“The house was made over entirely new. Every mod¬ 
ern convenience and I might say luxury of that date were 
installed before your mother came as my bride. 

“No couple—no two couples—were happier than we. 
Father and mother grew as young and gay as we and 
many wonderful trips, many a happy ‘at home,’ we 
spent together. Your mother was beautiful, sweet, 
gracious; highly cultured and accomplished. She crept 
into mother’s and father’s hearts and lives—became a 
component part of them. They loved her better than 
they did me or anyone else. 

“Your advent was the greatest that had ever taken 
place, there had never been a baby boy born into the 
world before, and such a baby! Never before had such 
an amount of time and money been spent to make a com¬ 
ing as comfortable, as beautiful as possible. How happy 
we four were! The great event took place in this room 
and I wish you to have it as your very own. The smaller 
room there we used for a dressing room, it opens into 
the bath and was ideal. 

“On your mother’s desk there, you will find your baby 
book—kept carefully by her. An entry was made each 
day. She treasured it highly, my son; I pass it on to you 
the most valued possession I have of hers. In the larger 
book you will find a correct record from the time I lost 
her until now. Three entries were made each year (oc¬ 
casionally one in the interim) : one on our wedding anni- 



Lean and Lank 


163 


versary, one on your birthday, one on the anniversary of 
the tragedy which took her, and—and—others—away. 
In the small drawer, are the hat and your little glove 
that were found floating on the river. 

“My mother lived only a few years after our marriage, 
(she was ill only a few days of pneumonia), dying when 
you were two and a half years old—how she did love you! 
Father died about five years ago. I am sure his anxiety, 
grief, worry and the uncertainty about you hastened the 
end, for he was of robust, hearty constitution and came 
of a line of long-lived ancestry. You seemed ever on his 
mind. The last thing he said to me before going into his 
last sleep was: 'Son, little Dan will come home to you 
some day.’ 

“The entire menage stayed on, his special man how¬ 
ever, died soon after he did, the rest of us have lived on, 
waiting—waiting for you. 

“Two years ago I had the entire place done over new, 
inside and out. How do you like your home son?” 

“Nothing could be more ideal, more beautiful, more ab¬ 
solutely satisfying to my home-sick, heart-sick soul, I as¬ 
sure you, father. It is impossible for you, for anyone to 
appreciate my feelings.” Daniel left his father, walked 
over to the window, pulled back the soft, white, silky 
draperies, and with his hand upon his baby book stood 
looking out upon the lawn appealingly soothing with its 
great grey trees; their bare branches, stretching sky¬ 
ward, a bright leaf or flower on vine or shrub here and 
there; an occasional bird flitting slowly as if chilled by 
the winds of the frosty night, or perched high upon a 
twig preening its feathers, shaking its stiffened body, 
fluffing its plumage, so the bright, warm sun rays could 
penetrate to the skin. 

The father left the son in his own room, to meditate, to 
read the baby book written with his mother's own hand. 
As the door closed noiselessly, Daniel turned around, 
picked up the book, sat at his mother’s desk. 

Opening the book, he read the sweet, tender lines; de¬ 
scribing his first smile, first tooth, first word, first step; 



164 


Lean and Lank 


the first birthday, first toys, first Santa Claus. How his 
glee was expressed in laughter and the clapping of the 
baby hands, as grandfather and daddy held him “steady” 
on old Bluche’s back (an immense St. Bernard). Pasted 
at the bottom of this page was a splendid kodak picture 
of the description written. Daniel looked upon himself 
sitting astride the dog, with father and grandfather bent 
over him their faces lighted with the pleasures they felt, 
each with a steadying hand upon his little body; the dog 
seeming to understand, enjoying the procedure as much 
as the men; the baby hands were buried in his long mane, 
the face turned up in laughter to his father's. As he 
looked, Daniel forgot for a moment, it was his own like¬ 
ness. He had interpreted and imbibed the spirit of the 
occasion, and smiled a pleasing smile, as he too, caught 
the irresistible “twinkle” of the baby mouth. It was a 
good picture, a pretty picture. Another, showed him on 
a “scooter” his mother guiding the toy, the chubby hands 
grasping firmly the handle bar, the eyes cast intently 
upon them, one foot raised uneasily as if not so sure of 
his equilibrium. This was a good picture, his mother 
beautiful. 

Then the first meal with his baby spoon; the condition 
of the face, hands and bib after the meal. All, every¬ 
thing, was fully described—not a motion, not a gurgle 
seemed to have escaped the argus eyes of parents and 
grandparents. Every day noted some special prank or 
cuteness. 

The last item registered, quite overcame Daniel's emo¬ 
tions, for he knew it must have been entered a few days 
—probably the last day of his mother's life—the last day 
they were all together, the last day of the home. The 
picture was dated. He took out his pencil and on the 
back of an envelope made a calculation (he was then un¬ 
able to make it without aid of pencil and paper). He was 
exactly two years, eleven months, twenty days old when 
this picture of him was made. He was all alone and in 
his first suit,—little black velvet trousers, white linen 
blouse, with Buster Brown collar and plaid tie. His hair 



Lean and Lank 


165 


cut decidedly boyish (in the other pictures it had been 
somewhat girlish) parted on the left side and sleekly, 
neatly brushed from his forehead; his feet, encased in 
black patent leather slippers and white sox, were well 
apart as he stood in quite a manlike pose, with a small 
walking cane grasped tightly in the baby hands held 
horizontally across the body. Each hand showed four 
tiny dimples. His father had shown him the cane—(a 
gift from his grandfather, because he harassed the old 
man so for his) which he invariably carried when out 
for a walk. “You have always liked to carry a cane, old 
top, a habit still noticeable in your make up,” smilingly 
thought Daniel. “If pictures, — if day dreams and 
thoughts expressed so simply, so sweetly beautiful and 
literally expressive,—mean anything at all, this book 
means that you had a most excellent—a most superla¬ 
tively excellent mother, young man, and from your ap¬ 
pearance in every picture, I am of the opinion she had 
you a nobby, sprucy looking little fellow, when she was 
around at least. I wonder ...” He mused half aloud, 
stopping short in his thought . . . His eyes large, sad, 
dreamy, then drawing them to almost a line, he re¬ 
flected “If Whittier never wrote any other verses, the one 
ending: 'it might have been’ is sufficient to make him 
world known,—many times thought of. ‘It might have 
been’ has recurred to me ten thousand times, I venture, 
since I last clasped Jo’s hand. Sad—, truly sad. ‘It 
might have been,’ God, what might now have been!” 

“Sometimes when I am stable enough to think straight, 
sane enough to express my thoughts in clever, lucid lan¬ 
guage, I am going to draw word pictures, paint a beauti¬ 
ful picture of what my life (our lives) what might 
have been, could have been and in all probability would 
have been, had not fate interfered. 

Under natural, ordinary conditions and circumstances, 
the book would have been simply a foolish little baby 
book—kodaks. A keepsake for his sentimental mother. 
Under the unnatural, the extraordinary conditions and 



166 


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circumstances, it was an exceedingly worth-while book— 
Priceless. Very precious. All his real life. 

Daniel, with the book still open upon his lap, lay far 
back in his chair, eyes closed, deeply absorbed in thought, 
deeply touched. Long he sat, his hand lightly touching 
the book as if fearful of hurting it. 

Bringing it to his lips he tenderly kissed it as he would 
have kissed the lips of his dead mother, closed it, put it 
carefully in its place. Then took up the larger book. 

It was written in bold clear type (so different from 
the light easy Spencerian type of the mother). “The 
chirography typifies the lives lived” thought Daniel. He 
was king in his domain, she queen in her’s; each com¬ 
manding, demanding and submitting; each conscien¬ 
tiously doing his best in their respective spheres. 

The larger book was opened. He read the sweet, the 
bitter, the desperate, the disconsolate, the soul-tearing 
record; his father’s triad entries—on the three anniver¬ 
saries : his marriage, birth of the first baby, the tragedy. 
How the husband, the father, had lived and kept his 
reason through all the years was more than Daniel could 
understand. 

When he picked up, looked at, handled the tiny kid 
glove, so carefully preserved,—his glove, the one he had 
worn, the one his mother had put on and then taken 
from his hand and lain lightly upon his father’s hat, a 
few hours, possibly a few moments before she had been 
hurled into eternity; before his father had been hurled 
to eternal anguish of both mind and body;—he to ... . 
nonentity—to hell! 

Daniel remained in the retreat of his room for hours, 
was still reading and pondering when dinner was an¬ 
nounced. His face was enigmatic. The father did not 
try to decipher his son’s countenance—indeed, analysis 
would have been exceedingly difficult—impossible. The 
occasion was not mentioned by either of them for some 
weeks. 



Lean and Lank 


167 


At dinner, to which Mr. F. M. Warren and Mr. Ben 
Lewis had been invited, that peerless recounteur was 
made master of ceremonies—and was asked to tell of his 
last success. 

He related the experiences which led up to and after 
finding Daniel, along with many others he had had while 
making the nation-wide search for Daniel. 

Some of the incidents were so ridiculously told, the 
house would reverberate from time to time with the 
hearty laughter of the men. They were “rich, rare, and 
racy.” (Daniel thought of the remark Mr. Lewis had 
made in the waiting room of the ’Frisco depot, when he 
had occasion to remark that all life was tragedy, of Mr. 
Lewis saying, “no indeed I have seen lots of comedy in 
my life”). 

He had. 

Some of the incidents were so touchingly told, the men 
would sober and expressions of a feeling of a desire to 
help, a feeling of regret and sympathetic pain would pass 
over their faces. 

All incidents were told interestingly and well, so 
muchly so that none of the others had desire to join in— 
all were satisfied,—pleased, to listen. 

Mr. Lewis had a very responsive, understanding 
nature. The ridiculous appealed to him spontaneously 
and no one saw more of the ridiculous, the comedy, nor 
enjoyed it more than he. To the same degree did the pa¬ 
thetic appeal to him and no one expressed more real feel¬ 
ing, more charity for the unfortunate; gave more material 
assistance to the “down and out,” than he. But for 
crooks, betrayers, willful trouble makers, he had abso¬ 
lutely no patience with, no mercy for and because of the 
very pronounced bi-nature of the man and to such 
marked degree,—he had grown rich in knowledge, rich in 
possessions in doing the work for which nature had best 
fitted him. He had gotten to the place where he could 
“name the price” for his services, though scarcely 
reached the half century mark. 



168 


Lean and Lank 


Later in the evening there was an ingathering of all 
neighbors and friends. Scores called to clasp the hand 
of the father in hearty, heart-felt, rejoicing, sympathetic 
joy. Cordially clasped the hand of the long lost son, who 
had come at last to gladden the father’s heart and home. 
All, even the youngest, knew of the tragedy in the father’s 
life and all seemed to be personally interested in the find¬ 
ing of the handsome son they knew almost as tradition. 
The gathering was so informal, so genuinely congenial 
and pleasant that twelve o’clock came before good nights 
and best wishes began to be extended. Then some of the 
younger ones gathered around the piano and began sing¬ 
ing old and familiar songs (in which Daniel would in- 
volnntarily join with his rich baritone when the piece 
was especially familiar or appealing to him). As the 
elder Foster, watched his boy and listened to him sing, 
his fine eyes grew moist and tender. “He does love music, 
he is indeed like his mother,” he breathed. 

The selections sung dove-tailed evenly with the events 
of the hour. The songs were as appropriate as if they 
had been selected and religiously rehearsed for the oc¬ 
casion. High paid choirs could have listened with sin¬ 
cere appreciation; the notes were so free from all affecta¬ 
tion, so clear, so sweet, so heart-felt. They were used 
as a recessional by the older heads, for they passed on out, 
and to their homes, leaving the younger ones to follow 
promptly. 

Father and son stood in the door looking on as the last 
one filed out into the night. Turning, they came arm and 
arm into the house. Daniel was beginning to feel much 
at home, very comfortably satisfied. They met Henry as 
*he came to close the house for the night. As they passed 
on to their room, Daniel said: “The day has been full in¬ 
deed—pleasant. We can at least be quietly happy, can’t 
we?” The father pressed his arm heavily and earnestly 
said: “My son, may ‘the cares that infest your days, fold 
their tents like the Arabs and as silently steal away.’ ” 



Lean and Lank 


169 


CHAPTER XXVII 

The following noon the house was closed for a fort¬ 
night, and left in charge of Henry and “Aunt Mandy.” 
Father and son left for Charlotte, N. C., where the ma¬ 
ternal grandparents (Mr. and Mrs. John Crawford Mc- 
Kinzie) and other near relatives were anxiously, ner¬ 
vously awaiting the coming of the much loved son-in-law, 
brother-in-law, and his son whom they were wonderingly 
desirous to see. 

Each and every one had made (privately) wide and 
wild speculations as to what Daniel was, what he could 
possibly be and look like after almost twenty-four years 
of being a lonely, homeless, helpless orphan; . . . The 
older ones who knew life were very skeptical, their opin¬ 
ions would not register; a new roll every day, every hour 
—every minute, now as time drew near for his arrival, 
and they all stood tip toe on the topmost peak of polite, 
wondering, sympathetic, feeling curiosity. 

Try as they would and did the only authentic informa¬ 
tion they had been able to get since Daniel had been found 
was over wire and ’phone, which was very harrassingly 
unsatisfactory in this case. 

The father was uncommunicative; which bore the 
flagrant insignia of his utter, anguishing disappointment 
—they all thought—yea knew. (A good sized interesting 
book could have been made of the different Daniels each 
one visioned). 

The first message sent them was merely a verbatim of 
the one Mr. Foster had received from Mr. Lewis in San 
Francisco. A second one was sent on the morning after 
Daniel’s arrival. Merely stating of a truth Daniel Ben¬ 
son Foster, Jr., was at home and well. Very brief. No 
personal references whatever. Maddening! Then a third 
and last telling of their coming,—the exact time. 

Henry had orders to give any information actually 
necessary, but that neither father nor son could answer 
the phone now. “Say we are in conference, Henry, and 
cannot be disturbed,” was the final dictum. 



170 


Lean and Lank 


The train moved swiftly along, making few stops. 
Daniel found his father a well-informed man; a most in¬ 
teresting, entertaining conversationalist, and very widely 
known. Not a place did they stop, not a restaurant or 
hotel did they enter, but some one was rushing up, “So 
glad to see you Dan,” or “Mr. Foster,” and Daniel was 
always proud to be introduced as “my son.” 

Mr. Foster knew something of historic interest or some 
pleasant anecdote about each town passed and almost 
every passenger that got on and off the train. It was 
certainly not tedious nor tiresome to travel with such a 
companion. 

“Daniel, I met your mother for the first time at a house 
party at the little town we are now nearing, East Point. 
If the family had not—some died, some married, all 
moved away, we would have stopped over between trains 
to have seen them, for they were a very remarkable fam¬ 
ily in many ways. 

“Gertrude Herndon (‘Gertie' we called her) and your 
mother were chums and room-mates at college; as were 
her brother, Murray Herndon and I at the University of 
Virginia. There were five children, Murray and Gertie 
being the oldest. 

“They lived about a mile from the station—(you can 
see the house after we cross the tressle, I will show you) 
and were what you could truly call ‘livers at home.’ The 
house was a large, rambling affair, looked as if it had 
been added to from time to time as occasion demanded 
and not from a desire to carry out any special period of 
architecture (laughed the father). But such comfort! 
Each different addition was almost a separate and dis¬ 
tinct dwelling—apartment house you might say, ideal for 
large house parties. And they had them. More people 
have had more wholesome, genuinely good times in that 
home than any in the state, or several states, I expect. 
See, there it is, the large brick and wood building on the 
hill. I understand it has been sold to northern capitalists 
for a summer home. 

“They had horses (saddle, wagon and buggy), hogs, 



Lean and Lank 


171 


cattle, chickens, pigeons, peafowls, turkeys, guineas, fox¬ 
hounds, ’possum-hounds, bird dogs, house dogs, cats; the 
loveliest fruits of every kind that grew in that section; 
vegetables of all kinds, galore; wines, jellies, pickles and 
preserves of every kind and flavor. 

“The fire places, which occupied almost the entire end 
of a room, were kept piled high with oak and hickory 
logs, brought in by the hands on the plantation, who also 
served as valets for the boys; each girl had a negro girl 
or woman for a maid. Most all the help were the chil¬ 
dren of former slaves. Your mother and I spent Thanks¬ 
giving with them the year before we were married, and 
such a time as we did have! There was an even dozen of 
the young bunch (besides neighbors). We hunted fox, 
o’possums and coons by night; rabbits, quail, doves and 
ducks by day, when we were not sitting before the fire 
popping corn, parching peanuts, boiling chestnuts, roast¬ 
ing potatoes in the ashes, or making candy. 

“They had a very good piano. Most all the girls could 
play—some of the boys—they would take it turn about 
playing, while the others danced. 

“Very droll duets, both vocal and instrumental, were 
improvised, making lots of fun; the vocal ones were the 
means of publicly telling in a secret way the individual 
news or the suspected heart throbs of the crowd,” he 
laughed. “Utterly ridiculous some of them. The ‘old 
folks’ would join in with us or sit in a corner for a quiet 
chat, checkers or old-fashioned dominoes; bridge, mah- 
jongg and such were unknown in those parts. 

“I shall never forget those visits. 

“Murray married an English girl and lives in Mon¬ 
treal, Canada. We will go to see them some day. I have 
been several times. They are fine. Poor Gertrude died 
when her youngest child was about six years old; she 
left three children. I haven’t heard from any of them 
in some time. She lived in New York.” 

He looked at his watch . . . 

“We are just ten minutes from Charlotte. I guess they 
will send for us in the car; but if grandmother and 



172 


Lean and Lank 


grandfather come, they will be driving two fine bays, 
with driver in full livery on the front seat. They still 
cling to their horses (too near Kentucky not to) they like 
them so much better than a car. They say ‘Tom and 
Jerry’ understand their language. Will ‘whoa’ when they 
say ‘whoa’ and ‘get up’ when they say ‘get up,’ not 
so with a car always . 

“Your Aunt Carrie and Uncle Tom (Caroline and 
Thomas, the old folks call them)—Mr. and Mrs. Alexan¬ 
der Livingston, live at Greenville, S. C. We are to go by 
to see them, too. The other brother and sister live in 
Texas. I haven’t seen them in years, and never hear 
from them except through the others. 

“A widowed daughter and two children, about grown, 
live at the old home with the old folks,—Aunt Clara 
(Mrs. James Berney), James, Jr., and Bettie Jo.” 
Daniel’s breath left him as this name was pronounced— 
the color vanished, leaving him pale. He recovered his 
composure before his father noticed. “Bettie Jo is named 
for the two grandmothers, Elizabeth and Josephine. They 
are lovely children. 

“Well, here we are and there are James and Bettie Jo 
in the car, the large brown one to the right. I guess 
grandfather and grandmother were unable to be out and 
Aunt Clara stayed with them.” 

Bettie Jo was a complete “knock out” as James said 
of her. She was a tall, slender, graceful girl; “red¬ 
headed”—James called it (“titian” she called it, and it 
was) eyes, the same shade of her hair (large and ex¬ 
pressive of vim, fire, life and laughter), rosy, school-girl 
complexion, deep dimple in her left cheek. She was 
dressed in sport clothes up to the last minute in style— 
even to hair cut. The whole effect struck Daniel as being 
just the thing. She spoke to every one at once, greeted 
“Uncle Dan” very affectionately, also “Dan.” She loved 
everybody and thought everybody loved her, and they 
did. She told all the news, in gleeful energy, at once, giv¬ 
ing no one else a chance to tell any. 

Bettie Jo talked incessantly the drive home, much to 



Lean and Lank 


173 


James’ outward embarrassment and concealed disgust. 
That “automatic, self-winding phonograph” he called her, 
“is indeed wound tight tonight,” he thought. 

Upon reaching home she was the first one out. She 
conducted Daniel and her uncle (holding an arm of each) 
up the steps and into the house. She was here, there, 
everywhere. Her merry, spontaneous laughter could be 
heard above every other sound as she jollied grandpa, 
petted the cat, spit out catty remarks at James, gave 
orders to the servants. James wished in the depths of 
his soul it were possible to shut her up, but not so, the 
worst was yet to come. 

She played the piano (“jazzy” grandfather and Jim 
said) and the “uke”. She preferred to play the ortho- 
phonic, which she usually did and danced and sang while 
it played. If no one danced with her, she danced alone. 

Daniel learned she could out-strip any member of the 
family playing bridge (except Jim, which vexed her, 
much to his amusement) but she could beat him at “42”. 
She played basket ball well. Went to every football and 
basket-ball game. If the girls didn’t see that she got 
there, the boys did,—“as James would not take her, he 
was always with 'some other girl’ and 'Grandpa’ would 
not let her drive the car—‘though other girls did, and 
younger than she. Grandpa was entirely too straight 
laced as to observing the law.” 

James was as totally unlike Bettie Jo as was possible 
for sister and brother to be. Four years her senior (he 
was nineteen), several inches taller, with almost black 
hair, dark gray eyes, olive skin. He was a quiet, digni¬ 
fied, thoughtful chap, with no patience with Bettie Jo’s 
“crazy cat” ways; yet, Bettie Jo knew he adored her. He 
saw that she had the best, did the best, went with the 
best. She was never out of his sight or mind for long at 
a time and then he knew where she was,—“She is so 
harum-scarum I have to watch her, I never know what 
she is going to do next,” he told his mother when Bettie 



174 


Lean and Lank 


Jo chided him for being so “prim and prissy” about her. 
He submitted to her teasing like a Spartan. 

The mother adored “Jim.” 

Bettie Jo always came out ahead of everybody in most 
everything she did, except school. She did make her 
grade was all, but sufficient for her. James insisted on 
A’s and A plus, and got them, even his first year at Uni¬ 
versity—not so with Bettie Jo. 

She was completely taken off her feet by “Dan” and 
whispered in his ear when he had been in the house an 
hour. “I have won my bet I know. Jim said you would 
be a nice straight-jacket like him and grandpa, but I 
said you were a dead game sport and you are, aren’t 
you?” To which Daniel smilingly replied, “I expect I 
am.” 

The orthophonic was started — after she promised 
grandpa, grandma, Jim and mother she would play and 
sing everything she knew before bed time, if they would 
let her play three or four of her favorites first— now. 

As she surmised, she found “Dan” an excellent dancer, 
“Jim dances well too,” she informed Daniel, “but he wont 
very often with me.” 

Daniel found “grandfather” and “grandmother” all 
that grandparents could be. Though passed three score 
years and ten, they had lost none of their dignity, none of 
their polite refinement. Both heads white as snow. 
“Grandfather”—only medium height and rotund— 
“grandmother so straight, slim and sweet,” Daniel said. 

“They make a perfect 10,” Bettie Jo whispered, 
“grandpa so round—grandma so straight and slim.” 

Aunt Clara, he found, a patient, cheerful, ideal mother 
and aunt; an excellent housekeeper and host; her suavity 
unsurpassed. 

Daniel loved them all, was exceedingly proud of his 
mother’s people thus far. It made him wonder about her, 
long for her. He thought he saw a striking likeness be¬ 
tween his mother’s picture and Aunt Clara; the father 
verified the likeness, though he said Bettie Jo was more 



Lean and Lank 


175 


like her than she was like her mother, except the color 
of her hair,—his mother's hair was a darker, richer 
brown—eyes too. Daniel loved to make the comparison 
when Bettie Jo was unconscious of being watched. 

Need it be written the impressions Daniel made? What 
kith, kin, friends, neighbors, thought of him?—for you 
must know he was in the lime light of this new world he 
had entered. 

One paragraph of very few lines could contain the 
consensus of opinions: 

He's a man “take him all in all," a true, an ideal Ameri¬ 
can gentleman. His conduct is worthy imitating, be¬ 
speaks nobility of character. 

The grandfather spake thus to the father on the 
morning of the fourth day of their visit: “Daniel, if Sir 
William Hamilton is right, Daniel Jr. is great, for Sir 
William contends that ‘on earth there is nothing great 
but man; in man there is nothing great but mind,' and 
Daniel Jr. seems not to have neglected his mind. I con¬ 
gratulate you upon having such a son." 

Daniel never failed to act his part nobly and well. 

“We are leaving for Greenville in the morning and I 
want you to go with us and sit on the front with us and 
help me drive the car, Bettie Jo, won't you?" asked 
Daniel. 

Daniel had been irresistibly drawn to Bettie Jo and 
since his father had told him she was more like his 
mother than any of his relatives (save for color of hair), 
he was enamored, though, he and his father had not had 
opportunity to intimately, minutely discuss their like¬ 
nesses. Whether the analogy extended further than per¬ 
sonal feature or not, he knew not. He wondered if his 
mother was as wide awake, was as full of life, love, 
music, song and laughter as Bettie Jo. She studied (?) 
perched up under the “orthophonic" as it played “her 
favorites," soft and low. She was never still while awake 



176 


Lean and Lank 


—the radio alternating with the “orthophonic" in keep¬ 
ing pace with her movements. 

She had a pet dog, cat and canary. They all seemed to 
understand her perfectly, and did as she said do—they 
stayed put. She was marvelous to Daniel. 

“The whole family has ‘set down’ on me, Dan, and 
won't let me go anywhere, do anything, but study, study, 
and practice, practice, simply because I am a junior in 
school. Gracious how I do hate school. Just look what 
it makes you miss!" and tears rimmed her eyes and fell, 
as Daniel caught her hand, led her to another part of the 
house and said: 

“Bettie Jo, it was rude, very thoughtless in me to ask 
you to go with us. I should have been more considerate, 
for I know you ought not leave school unless absolutely 
necessary, especially as you are a junior. Will you for¬ 
give me?" 

No answer. 

“Bettie Jo, your mother is right, Jim is right. Jim is 
just the finest, nicest brother I know (Bettie Jo’s nose 
went up). You should not lose any time from school. 
You are too fine, too lovely a girl not to be thoroughly 
educated, you must be, and the time to do it is now. You 
must be competent to see, know and appreciate the big, 
fine things in life, a thing you can’t possibly do unless 
you are properly educated. I will come to see you when 
school is out, we can then have a better time than now 
for our consciences will be clear. How old are you Bettie 
Jo?" 

“Fifteen in June." 

He whispered in her ear, “I will give you a nobby little 
roadster (any make you choose) for your very own on 
your next birthday, if you bring up your grades, every¬ 
one of them, the balance of this session. You will be 
legally old enough then to drive a car and Jim and 
Grandpa wont object. 

“If you will be second to none in your senior year, I 
will give you a trip abroad for six months or a year, and 
all the pretty clothes you will need or want. Is it a go ?’’ 



Lean and Lank 


177 


.“Just see.” She threw her arms impulsively around 
his neck, kissed him and ran back to the crowd. And 
Daniel knew that “just see” was as good as an oath 
registered. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

Daniel found “Uncle Tom” and “Aunt Carrie” and 
their three children:—a young man just graduated from 
Johns Hopkins, one of the girls teaching school, the other 
(whom he did not see in the home) in her second year at 
University,, entirely different from the family they had 
just left, but equally as attractive. 

“Father, if your brothers and sisters are as altogether 
charming as debonair as mother’s are, you are indeed a 
fortunate man, we a fortunate people. It is usually con¬ 
ceded that there’s a black sheep in every family but I 
have failed to find even the suggestion of one yet, so I 
must be it. I have thoroughly enjoyed knowing and be¬ 
ing with mother’s people. Bettie Jo is my favorite, for 
more reasons than one, though, I guess because she is the 
youngest and seems to feel that because she is the baby, 
she has the hardest time of all. Yet she feels and knows 
she has the best end of it; she knows she is their idol 
especially 'grandpa’s and Jim’s’ and the way she does use 
them! it is positively the cutest, most refreshing thing 
I have seen in a long time. Bettie Jo is all right.” And 
Daniel was glad then, it was Bettie Jo, for he just could 
not have said Jo, he could never now call any one “Jo”— 
plain Jo. 

“I have no brothers Daniel, had only three sisters. I 
am the youngest child, the only son.” 

“Yes, forgive me, I forgot the moment having heard 
you say you were an only son.” 

“One of my sisters, Julia, married an excellent fellow, 
William Wallace. He was well fixed. He lived only a few 
years, ten, I believe, leaving her childless and wealthy. 
The second sister, Mary, married the same year, a very 




178 


Lean and Lank 


good, but kind of improvident, unfortunate, worthless 
sort of fellow, Oscar Clark. He made a scant living, but 
was decent enough to keep the others from chastising 
him and sending him about his business. They have 
three or four children and Julia took them in her home 
after William’s death, upon a written agreement that he, 
Oscar, pay her one hundred and fifty dollars a month in 
advance as board. He made only two hundred and fifty, 
you can imagine how a man these days can support a 
wife and children, three of them girls, in the style in 
which they live on one hundred dollars per. But Julia 
found that to be the only way to keep him on the job. 
He is foolishly fond of Mary and the children, they of 
him, and that keeps him awake and moving. 

“He can’t 'bide’ Julia (as the negro says), can’t hand 
her a thing. Of course the others understand the casus 
belli and in that way, friction is kept down and things 
move along smoothly. Julia banks the hundred and fifty, 
that Oscar thinks he is paying in board—equally among 
the children for their education. She is a splendid busi¬ 
ness woman, very just, kind and conservative. 

“I deeded Mary a place to be hers as long as she lives, 
then to go to the children. With the revenue from that 
and a monthly check, she does fine. At first she rebelled, 
—was chary, very sensitive about our treatment of Oscar 
—the business part—but I had her over for a week’s visit 
and after explaining what it would mean to her and the 
children,—Oscar, too,—that it was purely a business 
transaction, our own private family affair, she finally 
took a very sensible view of the situation and has been 
very adroit about it ever since. 

“The youngest sister died the second year after mar¬ 
riage at the birth of the baby which also died. Her 
young husband (Jack Thorsby) was crushed, he could 
not be reconciled to Peggy’s death and after a year he 
went West. He is now in Berkeley, California, the most 
beautiful place in the world, he writes. I hear from him 
occasionally. I understand he is doing well in the real 
estate business. He has remained unmarried. 



Lean and Lank 


179 


“Julia and Mary live in Williamsburg not far from 
home and where we are to spend the Christmas holi- 
days. ,, 

The father noticed a slight shadow pass over the son's 
face—“Doesn’t that suit you, son? Have you other 
plans?” 

“No, not exactly father. I hate so to object to any of 
your plans for they have been unimpeachable so far. 
And, too, I so long to see your sisters, to visit them in 
their home as we have mother’s, which has been such a 
pleasure to me . . . but ...” 

“What son?” 

“Father it is too childish, too simple to ... ” 

“I am sure it is all right, son, and your wishes and de¬ 
sires shall certainly be respected, have precedence. My 
happiness, ever remember, will be to do your pleasure.” 

“Thank you, father; I can truthfully say the same—my 
happiness is to do your pleasure.” 

“Thank you, son. What is it you wish?” 

“Father, I want to spend Christmas at home alone with 
you. I don’t want to hang up my stocking exactly, but— 
but—. Do you know I have never hung up my stocking, 
never had that happy experience, never have been associ¬ 
ated with those who have ?” 

The father sat with bowed head, one hand shading his 
eyes, for sometime. Daniel looked out the window, he 
was thinking of the baby-book, of his mother. 

The elder man placed a hand feelingly upon Daniel’s 
knee, the eyes still shaded, and said, “Son, we will spend 
Christmas alone in our home. God bless you.” 

A lay-over of three hours in Raleigh, was very pleas¬ 
antly and profitably spent in visiting the capital and a 
ride out to Chapel Hill, to visit one of Mr. Foster’s 
friends, who was Dean at the University. They found 
the hours entirely inadequate for the pleasures in store. 
Daniel found the Arboretum extremely interesting, the 
first of its kind he had ever seen. 

While Daniel, in company with the Dean and others, 
was exploring the beauties of the University, the elder 



180 


Lean and Lank 


Foster, excused himself and sent a lengthy telegram to 
his sisters in Williamsburg, saying it would be impossible 
for them to spend the holidays with them as they had 
planned, but would come as soon after as possible, letting 
them know the exact date. “A full satisfactory explana¬ 
tion when I see you. ,, He knew the sisters would be fear¬ 
fully disappointed and possibly, very probably, hurt; but 
he, too, knew such feeling would flee the moment Daniel's 
request was made known to them. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

The two Farrises—father and son—left the yacht wav¬ 
ing goodbyes, promising to return within an hour. They 
hastened their speed. As they entered the open street the 
wind cut their faces like tiny whip thongs suddenly 
lashed. They drew their scarfs more closely about their 
throats, turned the collars of their coats up about their 
ears, after buttoning every button; then giving their hats 
a pull to insure more snugness and comfort, they thrust 
their gloved hands into their pockets, and again increased 
their speed—the frosty air still tingling and nipping their 
ears and faces. 

Looking at each other they smiled as the older man 
spoke: “Early morning frost, ice still in the air, decidedly 
biting. Colder than I thought; expect the thermometer 
registers 10 below. That wind cuts like a knife.” 

“Yes, but it peps one up, makes him treble quick time. 
I like it. We . . . . ” A sudden stop in his speech as he 
caught his father’s arm. “For the past few seconds I 
have noticed something very familiar about the gait of 
the fellow just in front of that first group of three men, 
and unless I am seeing delusions, optical illusions, Daniel 
Foster just turned that corner . . . . ” He left his father’s 
side in a run just in time to see the object of his vision 
enter a barber shop, two doors below. 

Waiting for and beckoning his father to hurry, they 
rushed on, “I am sure that was Daniel Foster. I saw his 




Lean and Lank 


181 


profile as he entered the shop, let’s hurry in there.” The 
two entered the shop just as Daniel was removing his 
collar and tie. 

Each caught the other’s eyes simultaneously. “Well, 
Daniel,” was all the Judge could say. Daniel was struck 
dumb. The younger Farris had to take charge of affairs. 
Turning to the barber who stood in wide-eyed wonder, 
he said, “Excuse us, we will be back presently for the 
shave and hair cut,—if not we will pay you anyway. 
Have you a lobby?” 

“Yes, to the rear, second door to the right.” 

Alston Farris came back after a few minutes for 
Daniel’s coat and hat. He paid the price for services not 
rendered, against the wishes of the barber, “But we kept 
you from this work. Mr. Foster was in the act of getting 
a shave and cut when we interfered. It is but fair. He 
may come down later this morning, doubtless will, then 
you can straighten finances,” and leaving the fee on the 
counter he hurried back to his father and Daniel. 

“Judge, my home is only a few blocks up the street, I 
am walking, you and Alston must come with me to my 
father’s house.” 

“Your home! Your father’s house? Praise the Lord!” 
very reverently ejaculated the Judge. 

Walking between the two men an arm linked in each, 
Daniel piloted them to his home. 

As they turned in at the walk both Farrises involun¬ 
tarily glanced up in admiration of the architectural 
beauty of the Foster home. 

The elder Foster was found in the library. 

Confusion prevailed for a moment. 

“I can say nothing, I am in a trance-like state. Daniel, 
my son, you must explain,” stuttered the Judge. 

“I cannot. Father can tell you better than I. Please 
be seated. I am so over-joyed at this meeting, you will 
have to grant me quiet,—I had rather father would tell 
you anyway. 

What a wonderful flow of language the elder Foster 
possessed! What a handsome commanding figure he was 



182 


Lean and Lank 


—his hair thick, but white as snow, combed smoothly 
back from his high broad forehead, with a suggestion of 
a part on the left side; the eyes large and expressive; 
the finely chiseled mouth and chin bespoke suffering, de¬ 
termination. How his fine eyes glowed with the light 
of love and pride as they rested upon the form of his boy, 
as Daniel looked with pardonable pride, upon his stately 
father as he gave signal to begin. 

Only a brief synopsis of the long story was told. 

As it was ended every man felt satisfied; felt himself 
more a man by the part he had played in this unusual, 
this miraculous drama. 

The judge broke the short silence which followed the 
recital “God surely works in wonderfully mysterious 
ways his wonders to perform. ,, To which the others ut¬ 
tered a fervent “Amen.” 

With a fine sense of decorum Mr. Foster never men¬ 
tioned Jo’s name, but to the older Farris and the younger 
Foster, it seemed she hung on every word and instinc¬ 
tively they sought each other’s sympathetic, understand¬ 
ing eye. When propriety permitted the Judge said, “I 
would be glad to have you all by yourself, Daniel, just for 
a few minutes if Mr. Foster and Alston will excuse us.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

“This way, Judge,” and every nerve and muscle were 
aquiver as Daniel caught the Judge’s arm and led him 
into the living room where a bright fire crackled and 
roared up the chimney. 

“Daniel,” began the Judge, in uncertain voice. “I can¬ 
not express an opinion of all this, it’s beyond me—I have 
no opinion. But I must tell you, Jo is with us on Alston’s 
yacht at the landing—she and the others are waiting now 
for us to return, to take them on a sightseeing expedi¬ 
tion.” 

Daniel paled as he straightened himself, clinched his 
fists, his eyes flashing as he forced through set teeth. 
“Please don’t, Judge,—don’t mention her—for know as¬ 
suredly she has been my hell in the same proportion she 
was my heaven, so spare me.” 



Lean and Lank 


183 


“Why, Daniel, what on earth? You must see Jo, you 
must. How can you afford not to? It would be cruel, 
damnably cruel to her not to . . . ” 

“Judge, I cannot, please pardon me. I cannot see her 
another’s wife; do not drive me mad by pronouncing her 
name.” So near yet so very far away—farther than 
eternity. A groan, as from the depths, tore its way 
through his soul, his head dropped forward, bent low 
upon his breast, his entire body relaxed as if in danger of 
collapse. 

The older man’s arms were instantly around him as he 
hurried to say “Jo is not married, Daniel, Jo is not mar¬ 
ried. There is some terrible mistake. Look at me, my 
boy. Jo is not married. I tell you she is waiting for you 
on Alston’s yacht at the landing. If you still love her, 
go to her at once.” 

Slowly the dull eyes were raised to the misty ones of 
the Judge—“She is waiting for you, Dan, she will always 
be waiting. Jo waits longingly for you, my son,” in soft¬ 
est, sweetest, most persuasive tones. 

Running the fingers of both hands through his hair, 
Daniel fell onto a chair. 

“I cannot understand. Am I crazy? or has God an¬ 
swered my prayers and am I dead . . . ?” 

Suddenly a loud, prolonged, vigorous ringing of the 
door bell roused both men. A voice was heard saying: 
“Is this Mr. Daniel Foster’s residence?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is he in?” 

“I am he.” Then the voices were lost—grew audible 
again. A voice strangely familiar, whose could it be, 
asking if Daniel were in? Both men rose to their feet 
and had started for the door as Robert Bishop came 
rushing in. Almost rudely he said, “Leave us please, I 
must see Dan alone.” 

The younger men were in each other’s arms as the 
door closed behind them. 

“Dear Lean.” 

“Dear, dear Lank.” 



184 


Lean and Lank 


“Dan, your letter reached me eighteen hours ago. I 
made all possible speed to tell you Jo is waiting for you. 
The oath was never violated by me, Daniel. Listen,—” 

Sitting side by side, an arm thrown back across the 
back of the seat resting upon the other’s shoulder, they 
sat facing each other in affectionate pose and the side of 
the story these, and only these two knew, was told. 
“Knowing you as I did, Lean, I was so horribly afraid 
lest some unfortunate, sad end overtake you, when every¬ 
thing was so all right. 

“I knew you thought, had a right, under agreement of 
oath, that Jo was married. Coming into your own, 
though it be a heaven, would be four-fold more hell to 
you, contrasting what could have been, what should have 
been, what would have been had some braves died be¬ 
fore they were born. Yet, since results have obtained, 
those same braves need a monument erected to them; for 
possibly you would never have found your father and 
home, had you not left as you did; if the need of him, of 
home, of some one, hadn’t driven you on. 

“That letter of yours is the grandest document extant 
today. No mortal can describe my feelings when I read 
it—or didn’t read it. Do you know I couldn’t read a 
line? I had to call Ruth. After she read it to me, I 
told her all and midst tears and kisses she packed my 
bag, while I staggered blindly about and shaved, (I had 
only twenty minutes to catch the train and it two miles 
away). Both babies joined in the chorus, they thought 
‘mother’ was hurt or sick and bedlam reigned supreme. 

“0, what trouble, what turmoil you have made in my 
home. The only way you can even half way restore 
things to their right status is to go back with me to¬ 
morrow. 

“But first tell me how Judge and Alston Farris got 
here? As the old negro said: ‘Everything jes beats my 
time, I kant understand nuthin’.’ I thought they were 
cruising on the Atlantic?” 

Daniel in few words told of the meeting of him and 
the Farrises. “I wrote Judge and Mrs. Farris the same 



Lean and Lank 


185 


mail I wrote you. They haven’t received my letter yet 
. . ” Suddenly grasping Robert by the arm, he almost 
snatched him off his feet as he dragged him into the 
library saying: “I can not explain anything, oh, Lank, 
we’ll have a lifetime now to talk this over,—everything. 
I am going to—I am going now—take care of Lank, 
father. You folks will excuse me, I know,” and he 
rushed to his room. 

Too many things were happening to Daniel in one day’s 
time—he had to change. He had changed. The transi¬ 
tion was as complete as it was swift. The curves about 
his mouth, the infectious smile had asserted themselves, 
completely obliterating the hard lines; the sparkle had 
come back with double force to the dark eyes. He had 
been completely changed from a doubter into the most 
ardent believer in the sweet, sacred vows—the infalli¬ 
bility of one woman. 

As Daniel stood before the men a few minutes later, 
immaculate in a dark gray suit, they thought,—what an 
Apollo! How transformed the almost hopeless face of a 
few hours before! Transfigured would have better ex¬ 
pressed the transformation. 

The sparkling brightness of the mid-day sun of hap¬ 
piness shown on his face. The father breathed deep 
within his soul. “Father, forgive me if I love my hand¬ 
some son too much. You too, lost an only son. You, 
you only can understand.” 

All the supreme, satisfying joy of having the life long¬ 
ings of his soul soon satisfied, beamed from Daniel’s 
face as he said: 

“I am giving orders now, not taking them, understand ? 
You men may stay here or go anywhere or do anything 
you please, I am going to the pier. Father, have Henry 
fix dinner for—oh, I don’t know how many—count them 
up for him Alston. Include all on board the yacht, the 
crew too. I am bringing or sending them,” and with 
that he rushed out and into his father’s car and to the 
landing. 



186 


Lean and Lank 


CHAPTER XXX 

The time set for the men’s return to the yacht had 
passed—was long overdue. An hour passed—two hours 
—still the Judge and his son had not returned. Their 
wives grew impatient; impatience had merged into 
worry; worry, into anxiety—what could possibly be de¬ 
taining them. The highest point of endurance had been 
reached when a light footstep was heard. Both women 
looked up as Daniel Foster reached them. Placing a 
finger over his mouth, shaking his head, he whispered, 
“Please do not make an outcry, dear, dear Mrs. Farris, 
I will soon explain all the unexplained. Where is Jo?” 

Pointing in the direction of Jo’s whereabouts, Daniel 
removed his hat and ran in the direction indicated by 
the finger, both women gazing after him in wide-eyed 
astonishment. 

Jo was coming out of the opening, hat in hand, ready 
for the long promised “tour of the city.” 

“Jo, my dear, my darling, my darling! I am Daniel 
Foster, Jr. Dear Jo, I live with my father on Washington 
Ave., here in Newport News. I have come to take you 
to him, to my home. Will you come? Can you, will you 
forgive me, forgive any and all unkind, rash actions or 
words, remembering how sorely I was tired and go with 
me to my father as my affianced bride? Will you?” 

Jo stood as one dazed, she could not move; she could 
not speak. She felt like screaming; but instead, for an¬ 
swer, she burst into happy tears, threw herself convul¬ 
sively, limply into the arms open to receive her,—buried 
her face on his shoulder where her burning face could 
hide from his piercing, searching eyes. 

Holding her close in his strong arms, not a word was 
spoken for sometime; thoughts too deep for expression 
surged through their souls. He felt her quivering mus¬ 
cles grow more tense as she tried to calm her intensely 
agitated body. He whispered, as he caught one hand 
and held it up for inspection: “Is this my ring, Jo, the 
symbol of our loyalty to each other?” 



Lean and Lank 


187 


She nodded in the affirmative. 

Burying the hand with kisses, he placed the arm around 
his neck: “I could break every bone in your precious 
body by the sheer force of my overwhelming love for 
you. Do not let me hurt you, my darling Jo.” 

“How strong the arms of my two full yards of man¬ 
hood,” were the first words Jo could utter. 

“And how sweet and precious my five feet five of the 
loveliest womanliness man has ever been permitted to 
hold in his arms. Kiss me my darling, kiss me! How 
many years I have longed for this hour, my dear Jo!” 
Reverently, gently, kissing the sweet, soft, warm lips 
held up to him, he uttered a fervent prayer and Jo felt 
his warm tears upon her cheek and neck. 

When the fury of the flame was somewhat burned out, 
he said, “Jo, father is waiting for you, for us. Come, 
dear. I want you to meet my father.” 

He rose, helped her to her feet. Watched her hungrily 
as she straightened her hair and ran back to her room 
for a final satisfactory look at herself. She came back, 
put her hand within his arm and marshaled him before 
the others—her captive, her king. The crew having 
heard a commotion, came running, fearing something ter¬ 
rible, some tragedy had happened to the two Farrises. 

“Mrs. Farris—both of you—all of you—listen: Judge, 
Alston and Robert Bishop are at my home, with my 
father, where they are waiting for you to join them for 
lunch and as a starting point for your tour of the city. 
If you are ready, we will start now,” and taking Mrs. 
Farris' hands in his, he kissed them—and drawing her 
close, took her sweet oval face between his two strong 
hands, “my sweet mother,” he whispered in her ear as he 
kissed both checks. Whereupon Mrs. Farris burst into 
tears and threw herself where Jo had just been. Pat¬ 
ting her hand as he wiped away her tears, “We are so 
happy, you will pardon any unseemly act, won't you, 
Lucy.” 

And that sympathetic woman, knowing all the circum¬ 
stances, stood looking on, tears of joy coursing down her 



188 


Lean and Lank 


cheeks, she only said: “I am so glad,” and stood com¬ 
placently, as Dan helped her and the others on with their 
wraps. The crew was asked to join them for lunch. “The 
car will be sent back for you,” but the invitation was 
politely declined—the men glad for the hours off. 

Reaching his home, and after the necessary semi¬ 
formality of introductions and customary salutations, 
Daniel said, “I know it is not the correct thing to leave 
guests alone at such a crisis, but I am going to do the 
unusual and ask that you excuse father, Jo and me for 
a little while. Be as comfortable and happy as you can, 
‘Henry’ and ‘Aunt Mandy,’ ” nodding to each respectively, 
“are at your service,” and holding an arm of his father 
and Jo, he marshaled them to the back of the house. 

A happier three, never faced a happier crowd as Mr. 
Foster, Daniel and Jo returned a few minutes before 
lunch was announced. A happier, more garrulous party 
never sat around a board. Everyone was feeling good 
— good from the heart and head — the source of most 
every affliction; hence, the fountain of health and hap¬ 
piness. 

The kind consideration, the polite precedent, of one 
talking at a time was obeyed as far as practical under the 
existing conditions, which prolonged the hour to two, 
two and a half for lunch. 

As the meal was finished Daniel left his place, stood 
behind Jo’s chair and drawing her to a standing posi¬ 
tion close beside him said: “As Jo and I are the youngest 
in this ‘bunch’ we ask that we be excused and allowed 
to go for a ride. We will use the roadster leaving the 
car for you all, father.” Bowing to his father his eyes 
laughing, the irresistible curves about the mouth, the 
merry chuckle in his voice predominated, which the 
Judge, Robert and Jo knew, of old, meant that Daniel 
was entirely satisfied with his lot. He took Jo’s arm 
and started with her toward the door. 

As permission was being formally given by all, they 
arose, followed them out. Admonitions were heaped 
upon them as to “Be careful of traffic,” “Don’t stay out 



Lean and Lank 


189 


late,” “Don’t speed,” “Tell it to the marines,” followed 
them out past the drive. 

The rest of the party then assembled in the drawing 
room where full recitals of the happenings of the past 
twenty-three years were to be told midst clouds of 
fragrant cigar smoke (the ladies willing,—they were all 
used to it). Mr. Lewis had been sent for. He came in 
as they were all being seated. He had just gotten in the 
hour before from a very exciting little trip which he in¬ 
terestingly told before the real epic began. 

Every man was in his element,—telling and listening 
to a good story. It being one time where women could 
have gone on record as holding still tongues, for not a 
w r ord was spoken by them, as they listened to their hus¬ 
bands and friends weave the most wonderfully dra¬ 
matic, romantic, tragic, true narrative they had ever 
heard or read. 

Robert naturally came first. He began at the very 
beginning,—their first meeting. He told it in simple 
language, just as it actually happened; no coloring, no 
enlarging, no contracting. No one interrupted. It was 
an exceedingly touching time to all assembled. Each 
was implicated and almost as interested as the other; 
hence, they did not try to hide their emotions. 

As Robert talked, everyone could see the little half 
starved, ragged boy being pommeled by the ruffian; could 
see Robert’s lank body as it strolled up and took posses¬ 
sion of the field; they could see the collection of marbles, 
nails and other valuables handed each boy after the bat¬ 
tle was over,—see them as they made ready to depart, 
the taller boy’s arm placed protectingly around the 
smaller boy whose face was swollen and covered with 
blood and dust, whose left eye was completely closed. 
Could see them as they walked off, totally oblivous of the 
sympathetic crowd as they guyed the crestfallen bully— 
cheered wildly the victors, calling affectionately after 
them, “Good bye, Lank,” “Good bye, Lean.” Names they 
both promptly accepted as appropriate—as if they had 
been introduced. Of his never knowing Daniel’s correct 



190 


Lean and Lank 


name until the Judge’s advent, was pathetically ridicu¬ 
lous. 

They followed the boys home; saw the tired mother 
bathe the face and eyes, holding hot cloths to the bad 
eye until vision was partially restored, then of the older 
boy getting the consent of the mother for the crippled 
boy to stay with them. 

They could see the two boys begging a large box from 
a nearby store; see them lugging it home; see them as the 
petition was being made across the back hall for their 
bedroom; the window, with screen as it was installed 
the next night and the accessories added as their means 
allowed. 

Robert forgot not to tell of the never-to-be-forgot¬ 
ten ten-cent bonus, and the sixty cents given him as a 
“loan. . . ” 

They saw him as he separated from Daniel at his place 
of business; saw him as he bought a newspaper from a 
“pal,” walk confidently to the depot, take a seat and scan 
the “Want Ads”; saw the dilapidated pocket knife as it 
was drawn from the jeans’ pocket, the badly nicked blade, 
(but with sharp point) pulled out and outline the favora¬ 
ble ads; saw them sorted, folded once and put in his 
pocket, as he got up leaving the neatly folded paper on 
the seat. Saw him get his first haircut by a professional 
barber; buy his first tie and tie it gingerly under his 
chin—giving it a last affectionate, proud feel as he put on 
his cap and sallied forth. Confidence of success having 
increased in proportion to his improvement in looks and 
naturally—feelings. 

They could vividly see him as with tired, discouraged 
stride he pulled himself up to a fruit stand, five hours 
later, purchase his dinner—(an apple), seat himself on 
the curbing where his crestfallen demeanor announced 
to the world his morning’s failures. 

They smiled as he told of his first professional shoe- 
shine—paid for with his last dime; of Daniel’s taking it 
in the same ratio of business poise and austerity as he 
had mounted the chair and proffered the wage. 



Lean and Lank 


191 


They could vividly see the disconsolate Robert as he 
came, home., after having secured his first job, with his 
arm in a sling, his head and side heavily bandaged. Then 
Daniel’s sudden flight to realm of a millionaire when he 
received his thousand dollar check, which saved the day 
—Daniel having offered him one-half of it. Then of the 
Uncle’s return from California; the heavy gloom which 
settled upon them at the thought of being separated, be¬ 
fore “the Judge” and Mrs. Farris claimed Daniel for 
their own. 

Robert only slightly referred to his business successes 
and only then as they had to do with Daniel and Daniel’s 
friends, and Robert slightly nodded his head indicating 
that estimable couple as they sat side by side. 

It was the Judge’s time to speak. He, too, began with 
his first meeting with Daniel. How he was first attracted 
to him by his pleasant bearing, the merry curves about 
his mouth, the appealing brown eyes. How he “stayed 
put” by the frank courtesy, the polite and honest be¬ 
havior of the boy. 

As he described the home-made shoe shine (the pegs 
driven in the side forming a rack for the paper purchased 
with half of the first dime made every morning and 
handed each patron to read while he made them “look 
like new”), the emotions became audible as the pathetic 
business-like procedure of the little waif evolved smiles 
and laughter through tears. 

When he told of his first visit to Lean and Lank; of 
that being the first time Robert knew Daniel’s name and 
history; of his inquisitiveness as to how their domestic 
business was conducted, (simply out of admiration for 
the boys), the tears lost lodgement and rolled down the 
cheeks of his auditors unheeded. 

He told of Daniel’s home with him; of the business 
relations they had to form before he would consent to 
become a member of his household — and knowing 
Daniel’s ravenous desire for an education and the best 
things in life, everyone present realized what a tremen¬ 
dous deal it meant to the little fellow and Alston Farris 



192 


Lean and Lank 


exclaimed, “Bully for him, showed then what kind of 
stuff he was made of—one out of ten thousand at that 
age, I guess.” And Mr. Foster nodded his head in full 
appreciation of what he meant. 

He told of the disappointment to Daniel of not becom¬ 
ing the judge he had elected he would become when a 
small boy; then of his marvelous success in his natural 
trend—that of finances. 

(The first time the elder Foster had heard of his son’s 
then financial standing). 

He told of Daniel being so happy in his second aspi¬ 
ration— that of marrying a woman, as sweet, pretty 
and who would make him as good a wife as Mrs. Farris 
had made him; how transcendingly happy he and Jo had 
been. Then of the heavy blow which separated the two. 

“Daniel was always strictly a reliable, conscientious 
fellow he concluded; he never outgrew his tender regard 
for the love and training he received in his first real 
home with Robert Bishop and his estimable mother.” It 
was Robert’s time to bow his head low in deep apprecia¬ 
tion of what the Judge said, at the same time give thanks 
to his Maker for allowing him and his mother the 
privilege of such a care. 

Then turning to Mr. Lewis he said, “We await with 
genuinely impatient interest to hear you, sir. And that 
quick-witted, spry, dandy-looking fellow took the floor. 

Very entertainingly did he tell of first seeing Daniel 
as he interferred with the “jackanapes.” Of how his 
every look and move brought before his face the picture 
Mr. Foster had shown him in words of what he knew his 
son to be after he had grown to manhood. “And I tell 
you, friends, if his boy had been standing before him as 
he gave the description it could not have been more ac¬ 
curate. I do not understand it.” After a short pause 
followed the complete story as told to him by Daniel. 

Mr. Lewis, adept in powers of description, reached his 
zenith when he told of Daniel’s anguish, when he knew he 



Lean and Lank 


193 


was Daniel Foster, Jr. As he associated Jo,—his lost 
love—with his father and this beautiful home. 

More prosaically he told of his keeping their route and 
the exact time of arrival a secret, deeming it best that 
father and son should meet in their home. But again he 
reached sublime heights as he concluded by telling 
Daniel’s thoughts breathed aloud as he saw his home: 
“Is this my home? Did my mother teach me to talk and 
walk under these trees twenty-five years ago?” Of the 
door opening wide, the son being drawn by outstretched 
arms within its portals, then the door slowly, softly 
closing behind them. 

All eyes overflowing involuntarily, were focused upon 
the father. 

Absolute neutrality was Mr. Foster’s only refuge just 
then and he clung like mad to that refuge. Some min¬ 
utes elapsed before he judged himself capable of carry¬ 
ing to a splendid finish the beautiful, the marvelously 
wonderful story told thus far. 

He finally raised his head, crossed his knees, and sat 
easily in his chair, an elbow on each arm, his fingers 
loosely locked in front. His eyes sought the floor. As 
he began to talk of his wife, all ears were erect, all eyes 
wiped dry—. In clear distinct, low tones he began with 
the decision he and his wife arrived at in regard to the 
best care for her and Baby Dan (“as mother had died a 
few months before”). Of the preparations made, and 
of the journey begun. His listeners, in pitying sym¬ 
pathy, visualized the closing chapter of the happy family 
as he told of the horrible death of his wife; of the anx¬ 
ious, frantic search for his and his boy’s bodies in the 
burning pyre; of the hat with baby-glove being found 
later in the river; of the fruitless work of divers and 
dredgers; of his senseless, bleeding body being found the 
next day in the middle of the road, some distance from 
the place of accident, picked up and carried more than 
twenty-five miles on a truck in the opposite direction 
from which it should have been carried; of the driver 



194 


Lean and Lank 


reporting an automobile accident, which was accepted as 
facts. 

Of his horrible awakening two weeks later, to find they 
had not seen or heard of his wife and boy. Of his mad¬ 
ness. Of the never-ending search, after advertising 
failed; then of his final success. He then told some of 
Daniel’s behavior since getting home, only suggesting 
them (the parts Mr. Lewis did not know or failed to men¬ 
tion) he couldn’t bear to go into details—his boy had been 
too glorious, too personal—too intimate for that. Those 
thoughts, those visions were his very own—his reward 
for the tedious long years of waiting. 

As he told of his business with Mr. Rush, of his talk 
and instructions to Mr. Lewis—everyone sat a little for¬ 
ward—“The rest can better be imagined,” he finished . . 

“Just what power, what phenomenon, what psychic in¬ 
fluence or principle would you attribute such a feeling, 
such a presentiment or whatever the nature of the pro¬ 
cedure, to cause one to feel so positive about a thing? It 
is decidedly out of my ken. Decidedly weird, superna¬ 
tural to me. What is your opinion, your solution?” asked 
the Judge of Mr. Foster. 

All eyes were again upon the father. 

“I do not know. I do not know. I do know I have ex¬ 
perienced — we all have, (doubtless to more or less de¬ 
gree) the power of telepathy. The longing, the hunger¬ 
ing for my boy was so pronounced—was so powerful an 
emotion of my conscious and subconscious mind,—and my 
boy being so down-cast, so hopeless, — doubtless, the 
longing, the hungering for his home and loved ones were 
of the same force as mine, perhaps these two forces met, 
who knows? 

“I know, we all know, we can communicate across the 
mighty deep by wireless. We all know of the wonders 
of the radio. Our workings and results of these work¬ 
ings of the past weeks, months, yea years, have been 
no more wonderful to me. 

“The most wonderful phenomena—if phenomenon it 
can be called, of all to me is one that is as old as time. 



Lean and Lank 


195 


The fact that a poor, weak, insignificant mortal; without 
a penny or a friend—can, in the dark quiet of his closet, 
without uttering a sound, cause his innermost thoughts 
to mount upon wings and be carried through infinity to 
the throne of God instantaneously,—if they are offered 
in the manner and spirit He directs,—and the petition 
will be granted. Thus, I reply it is infinite, not com¬ 
prehensive to me; but exceedingly soothing, exceedingly 
comforting to my soul; without it how do you suppose I 
could have lived all these years?” and Mr. Foster looked 
up as if imploring divine guidance, and every head bowed 
in reverence and in admiration of the man who had borne 
so much and with such confidence, such fortitude. Their 
respect and esteem for both father and son were bound¬ 
less. 

Smiling, Mr. Foster looked at the two ladies—his eyes 
resting upon Mrs. Farris, Sr., and continued: “Are we 
ungallant that we have spoken before the ladies, before 
Mrs. Farris, Sr., my son’s adopted mother?” 

“Not in the slightest degree, Mr. Foster. My part in 
the life of Daniel was merely by-the-way; but I assure 
you was very sweet, pleasant and profitable. It would 
not have been at all, had it not been for the Judge, you 
know,—however, I am as proud and happy over the re¬ 
sults as any of you can possibly be. Mr. Foster, Daniel 
was a sweet, affable, model child; a model, adorable 
youth; a charming, lovable, Adonis. We were proud to 
call him son; we are proud of the small part we have 
played in his life and rejoice in his full happiness in 
the same ratio we grieved and mourned for him in his 
disappointment and wanderings.” 

The three men most interested felt gratified at the part 
they had taken in this wonderful life drama—all had the 
glorious satisfaction of feeling he had done his best, there 
was no cause for regrets; no cause for bitter reflections; 
each felt instinctively he had done his part nobly and well 
and was exceedingly happy he had. 

Robert fitted into first place, because of the good 
Samaritan and the widow’s mite being verified so magnif- 



196 


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icently, so courageously and for the years that need was 
greatest. 

Judge Farris shared equal honors with the father and 
royally bore his honors. 

Mr. Foster’s heart and brain were too full for further 
discussion. He got to his feet and every heart was 
touched, responded, as he walked over to Mrs. Farris, 
took her hands in his and in quiet dignity stooped over, 
kissed them as he thanked her for the mother love, pro¬ 
tection and care she had so magnanimously given his 
motherless,—his lost boy. Not a dry eye in the room 
as he took a hand each of Judge Farris and Robert, held 
them in warm clasp for a long moment, then gently 
dropping them he slowly turned and left the room. His 
quiet dignity inspired a high degree of respect. 

Presently he came back looking fresh—absolutely 
happy and content. “My cars and chauffeur are at your 
service, Judge and Mrs. Farris. Henry knows Newport 
News and surrounding territory, he will be glad to take 
you and yours anywhere, give you any information about 
our beautiful city.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Foster, we will avail ourselves of this 
opportunity and pleasure, but before leaving—we want 
you, Robert and Mr. Lewis to have dinner with us at 
seven tonight on the Merribird.” 

“Thank you, Alston and Judge, we will be glad to 
come, won’t we?”—and he turned to address Mr. Lewis 
and Robert. 

“I thank you, Judge, but I have another engagement 
for the evening, which I can not postpone. Wish I could, 
—for I would enjoy being with you immensely, I am 
sure,” said Mr. Lewis. 

“I will be glad to join you all tonight—and thank you,” 
rejoined Robert. “I will delight in the experience of 
visiting and eating on a yacht, to say nothing of further 
extending my pleasure by being with you all. This will 
indeed be a monumental twenty-four hours for me.” 



Lean and Lank 


197 


“For us all, Robert,” said the Judge, “And won’t you 
join us in our ride, Robert; I believe you are a stranger 
in Newport News, too? I understand Mr. Foster nor 
Mr. Lewis can go.” 

“No, I can’t go this time, thank you.” 

Left alone with Mr. Foster, Robert asked that he might 
see the house and grounds—as Dan’s home. The bold 
style of architecture made most alluring the inside with 
its almost luxurious furnishings. Daniel’s quarters were 
the last visited and the two sat in low cushioned winged 
chairs for a long intimate talk. 

Robert was indeed and in truth happily happy, as he 
visualized Dan and Jo in their elegant home—in this 
their beautiful apartment. He never enjoyed time more. 
“Mr. Foster,—Dan, mother and I, had a happy life—if 
it was hard, poor and exceedingly discouraging at times. 
I want to say here to you that had Daniel Foster not been 
beaten by the bully, had I not interferred, our histories 
—my history—would have been quite different. Dan put 
the fire to learn—to be educated; to love, to aspire to the 
better, higher things of life, into my then inert, latent, 
rusting, rotting heart and brain. He fired me with an 
ambition to be somebody, to be a man. The first im¬ 
pulse I had to right living and thinking I owe to him. 
Though younger by two years (at that time of life two 
years is quite a difference) he wielded a powerful in¬ 
fluence for good and it’s to him I owe my very life, cer¬ 
tainly its many rich blessings. He was so everlastingly, 
so always at it. He never let up, prodded me day and 
night; I had to ‘come up’ as he expressed it—to get any 
peace. Mother had to work hard all the time, often¬ 
times when she was too ill. Only since I have been mar¬ 
ried, and with children of my own can I understand, can 
I appreciate how she suffered. Still the mental suffer¬ 
ing must have far outstripped her bodily suffering, for 
she was exceedingly proud and could not bear to see, 



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much less have to endure what was forced upon her. 
Hence, she was never in condition, physically, to know 
(and the time was fast coming) when she did not care— 
she was nearing desperation’s door. It is true Uncle 
Robert came along at an exceeding opportune time; but, 
if I had not had Daniel’s three or four years training 
and tutoring it would have amounted to but little; as it 
was, the ground was well tilled, ready for any opportuni¬ 
ties or advantages thrown my way—which were many, 
and which, I believe I can honestly say, were used to the 
very best advantage possible. Of course we all had to 
work hard early and late, scheme and contrive many 
ways to make ‘buckle and tongue’ meet the first few 
years, but God was good and abundantly rewarded our 
labors. 

“The results of his influence are waiting the pleasure of 
the worthy father of a most worthy son. I know that 
Dan and Jo will be married right away and I take this 
opportunity to tell you, sir, my home, all that I have, is 
yours to use as you please, then and at any time you 
choose. 

“I want you to know mother, Uncle Rob, Ruth and my 
babies,—Lydia Lu and Daniel Foster.” 

“Thank you, most noble Robert, for your kind expres¬ 
sions of appreciation of my son, also for the proffered use 
of your home. Daniel has told me some of its many 
graces, he enlarged greatly upon his adjectives when 
describing your camp and hunting preserves. But most 
thoroughly do I appreciate that last.” 

“What, Daniel Foster?” 

“Yes. Does Daniel know?” 

“No, he does not, unless Jo has told him and I do not 
suppose they have touched earth long enough at a time 
for such a prosaic topic of conversation as yet.” 

Both laughed heartily and were still in close converse 
when Henry announced “baths ready—time for dinner.” 



Lean and Lank 


199 


CHAPTER XXXI 

The Merribird was indeed gay that evening. Every¬ 
thing bespoke—declared to the world—good feeling, good 
will to all. Their cup of happiness was overflowing and 
as many as could, must share in the overflow. 

Jo came in with but little time left to dress for dinner. 
Mr. Foster and Robert had left for the landing before 
Daniel got home. He arrived at the landing just a few 
minutes before time to take his place with Jo in the line 
of march to the table. 

The same table, one of crescent shape, was used as 
upon two other occasions when Alston Farris and his 
wife had entertained a few prominent personages of war¬ 
time fame. 

There was nothing profuse—simple elegance and re¬ 
finement. Lucy Farris’ talent — one among many — was 
artistry and on no previous occasions had she so artis¬ 
tically displayed this talent. 

The senses were charmed through the eye—filling the 
heart with the same raptures that must possess a bird 
as it, in its unrestrained joy, wings its merry flight 
through the gentle breezes of a soft, mellow spring sun¬ 
shine, almost bursting its little throat in pouring out ex¬ 
uberant notes of gladsome song. 

As Daniel gazed upon his bride-to-be, exquisite in her 
pure white evening frock with many glistening, glitter¬ 
ing spangles, and the scenes before him, his whole coun¬ 
tenance became ineffable, he mused: “I have reached my 
harbor of supreme satisfaction at last after so many 
years of disparaging uncertainties, so many perilous voy¬ 
ages—may I ever be worthy such great kindnesses as I 
have had heaped upon me this day—this hour.” 

Every one was seated except Jo, Daniel and the Judge 
as he announced in very impressive language the engage¬ 
ment and approaching marriage of Jo Byrne Allison and 
Daniel Benson Foster, Jr., and asked each and everyone 
present to attend the “wedding just three weeks from to¬ 
day, about this same hour, at the church in Brighton. No 



200 


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cards to be issued.” Then as Jo and Dan stood hand in 
hand—the friends who had been “friends in need and 
friends indeed” looked upon the scene as something al¬ 
most holy. 

As Mr. Foster looked with love and admiration on the 
handsome couple in such a beautiful setting, he thought 
the angels in heaven might have cause to envy the two 
who with bowed heads were receiving the blessings be¬ 
stowed audibly by the Judge; in spirit, by the others. 

Promptly at nine o'clock, as the last course of dinner 
was fully over—a band came noiselessly in and assembled 
in the place appointed. They were followed by a few 
of Mr. Foster's closest friends and neighbors, and the 
officers and executive board of a ship (friends of Alston 
Farris) then anchored in the harbor; and music, games, 
pleasant conversation were indulged in; an occasional 
couple taking the floor as the music appealed too strongly 
to their terpsichorean nature to hold still-feet longer. 
While Euterpe presided, Cupid and Venus joined hands 
with Terpsichore and ruled until Aurora threatened to 
encroach upon the King of night. 

Jo, never remembered being in a crowd of more charm¬ 
ing, gallant men; more beautiful, cultured women and 
girls. She was in the height of her glory and her pleas¬ 
ing personality, ready wit and originality of idea and 
expression made her the center of attraction, much to 
Daniel's miserable adoration. Not one of the younger 
set seemed to know or care that he was her especial 
guest; that he had been away from her so long; that she 
was his. 

Every one had met and admired the long lost son and 
his friends from “the South.” The spirit of the evening 
was extremely contagious and all joined in the cheer and 
good will of the hour. 

As host and hostess had occasion for a moment with 
each other they would whisper, “Aren’t Dan and Jo just 
the most wonderfully ideal couple you have ever seen? 
God bless them.” 

The hour was late when Robert Bishop came, among 



Lean and Lank 


201 


the very last to bid his host and hostess good night. “I 
understand this cruise will soon be over—then I hope to 
see each and every one of you in my home; until then, 
good night.” 

Daniel was loathe to leave, but he had already tarried 
as long as the most charitable chaperon would have al¬ 
lowed. But not yet,—Jo was teasing. 

“Daniel, I fear we have been too hasty in having our 
engagement announced, I am sick at heart . . . ” 

“Jo, what on earth do you mean?” as he caught her 
forcibly by the shoulders—“come, I will not let you, of 
all people on this earth, talk like that—cast the least sug¬ 
gestion of a cloud upon this, the most perfect day mortal 
man has ever been granted to experience ...” 

She interrupted. 

“Dan, dear Dan, listen. You haven’t had even a sug¬ 
gestion of a chance. As I looked at all those beautiful, 
charming, absolutely captivating girls tonight, I said to 
myself,—‘Dan shall have his chance, he shall not think 
he is irrevocably bound to me.’ Your father—that won¬ 
derful father of yours, may have—doubtless has—plans 
and suggestions for you, and you must at least know, hear 
them, and try them out.” 

All the glory was beginning to fade from Daniel’s face. 
That tyrant, that green-eyed monster jealousy was tak¬ 
ing him by the throat. He was suffocating as the hand¬ 
some, gallant men of the evening passed in review before 
him—especially one stalwart, prepossessing fellow who 
was Jo’s shadow the entire evening. He had heard of 
love at first sight,—could this be Jo’s meaning? Again 
he forcefully gripped her shoulders, looked piercingly 
into her eyes, and began to speak . . . “Jo—”! 

“Wait until I get through—You owe it to him, Dan, 
to yourself, your father’s friends and me.” 

He tried to speak calmly, he took a good grip on him¬ 
self, but his voice was unnatural as he said : 

“Jo, do you love someone else?” 

“Dan, what a foolish question. You know I do not.” 

“Then, Jo, my darling Jo, I am surprised and hurt to 



202 


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hear you say such of me. Do you think I could ever, in 
this world, love any one as I love you? Do you think a 
man's heart is a changeable thing to be switched on and 
off as desired; that love is the growth of will? If mine 
could have been, rest assured, my dear Jo, it would have 
been passed on to another long since, for I wanted, I 
needed, I longed for a home of my own with the woman I 
loved, with hungry, unsatisfied longings, where—with— 
where love would reign supreme. I guess the desire for 
such is more paramount, more pronounced in my nature 
than in most men’s, because of the fact I have never had 
a home since I could remember—since I was three years 
old—until now. I do not want this one if you do not 
share it with me and father. The more perfect, the more 
ideal it is, the more of a hell it would be to me by com¬ 
parison; by the reveries that would completely swamp 
and drown every other thought. 

“No one appreciates my father, his station in life, his 
most excellent friends and neighbors more than I. In¬ 
deed I am flattered—beyond telling—to own, to call him 
my own, and claim his friends as mine. They are great, 
wonderfully great, no questioning that; for all of which 
I am most thankful. 

“I want you to know too, Jo, I have seen, been thrown 
with, have associated with women of every nation (com¬ 
paratively speaking) of every class and clan; with staid 
belles and ‘high-lights’ as well as the present-day flap¬ 
per. I have earnestly, with all the power of my life, 
tried to love other women. At times the efforts nearly 
drove me insane. 

“When a sweet-looking, pretty, attractive, accom¬ 
plished girl would cross my path, I’d think ‘surely I can 
love her, for she is altogether lovely. I will make her 
love me, if I can, and in so doing will grow to love her, 
as “love begets love.” ’ The trial would be made. 

“When her preferences for me would be unmistakably 
shown, I would think all will be well this time, there is 
absolutely nothing to prevent; she is of splendid family, 
stands high socially and financially (though finances 



Lean and Lank 


203 


never bothered me, never entered my brain in affairs of 
that nature, I always felt I could make a living). Every¬ 
thing would run smoothly until the time when I could not 
honorably wait longer to declare myself, then in the 
lonely quiet of my room all would fall in ruins at my feet. 
I would tear my hair, clinch my teeth and fists in utter 
despair, for try as I would, your image, your sweet face 
would come before me, daring me to forget until I be¬ 
came convinced that self-destruction was the only pos¬ 
sible relief. 

“When I thought you were married (even though I had 
left you, because I was forced to believe I had no right 
to you), only God knows what I suffered. I was a rav¬ 
ing maniac, with no hope for relief beyond the grave. 
The only surcease from anguish and pain was in drink, 
when I would drown myself in oblivion. 

“My darling, when I knew I was Daniel Foster, when 
I heard my own father call me ‘my son’; when I knew 
I was in my own home, my mother’s home, the thought 
that you would never be with me, that I could not even 
let you know, pitched me head long into hell’s darkest 
pit—made the sweet unbearably bitter. I told father 
I had a thousand times rather have finished my course as 
a nameless tramp—as B. D. Retsof, the wanderer—than 
to have to bear the unutterable longing, loneliness—dis¬ 
appointment. The darkest hour I ever spent, was the hour 
after father and I had made a tour of our home and 
grounds, when he left me alone in my own room to reflect, 
to think of the precious hallowed memories of my mother 
he had so beautifully shown me; when I read the diary 
she had written with her own fingers, of her boy; if ever 
a man has waded through the ‘Slough of Despond,’ if 
ever a man has come face to face with the unsurmounta- 
ble, where the sides rise so straight and high they seem 
to lean toward, completely closing you in, swallowing you 
up: I am that man. I was hopeless, helpless in the pitch 
darkness of deepest gloom. But, it was the hour nearest 
the dawn of this most blessed—this sacred day, and hour. 

“Dear Jo, you are the only woman on earth I love— 



204 


Lean and Lank 


the only woman who can ever be my wife.” Drawing her 
gently close to him, he kissed her softly, tenderly, once. 

“You are growing cold, my darling, I can not keep you 
longer. Speed the day when I will not have to leave 
you. 

“I will be over early—no, you must sleep late of neces¬ 
sity. I will come for you as soon as I can, remember you 
belong to father and me all by ourselves tomorrow—to¬ 
morrow a fete, my jubilee! I will be for you at ten.” 
He drew out the handsome timepiece—his father’s gift— 
and pocket flashlight to see the time. “Let’s see, that 
will give you eight or eight and a half hours for your 
beauty sleep (I believe beauty specialists say the magic 
hour is the early morning or is it just before midnight?) 
and you don’t need that much to make you beautiful. 
Good night, my peerless, my glorious Jo.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 

“Alston has consented to stay a full ten days longer 
at Newport News. He says Ann and Flo got a letter 
from home this morning which has completely changed 
their plans—they are to go by their sister’s for Christ¬ 
mas so that necessitates the railroad or bus, and they can 
go more direct from here and better than from any other 
point—so no one will be upset or disappointed. It will 
take us only a few days to get home. Mr. Foster and 
Dan are to go back on the yacht with us and be the house 
guests of Judge and Mrs. Farris until after the wedding. 
Then Mr. Foster will be in Robert’s and Ruth’s home— 
while Dan and I will be at the camp for a week, all of 
you visiting us there. Isn’t that lovely of Alston, Lucy? 
Isn’t that program wonderfully perfect? Can one jot or 
tittle be added to make it more perfect?” 

“Yes, I think it is.” 

“O, everyone is so gloriously kind and gracious to me, 
I am overcome. I feel so unworthy,” and falling across 
the bed, she cried herself to sleep. When Daniel came an 




Lean and Lank 


205 


hour later, she was still sleeping. He would not allow 
them to waken her—“We can have a game or if you are 
otherwise engaged, I will go over and see what our 
friends across the way are doing, if they will allow me on 
board. ,, 

Jo found Lucy Farris' artistic taste, and Mrs. Judge's 
(as they all learned to designate them on the cruise) good 
judgement and business sense, of much value in the selec¬ 
tion and making of her wardrobe. Two seamstresses 
were installed on the yacht; with the two Mrs. Farris' 
nimble fingers, interspersed with Jo’s whirlwind visits 
and stitches, and when she could stay long enough for 
necessary fittings and proper adjustment of draperies, a 
full day's work was accomplished. As a result, a very 
complete, delicately sweet trousseau was lain away at 
the end of the ten days. 

“This white ivory is quite the prettiest quality I have 
seen, madam. The entire gown with those lace inlets in 
combination with the lovely designs in beads and that 
other glittering, glistening, dangling stuff is decidedly 
the most exquisite creation I have ever seen. 

“When the veil of that rich looking lace is attached to 
your shoulders, Jo—oh! it has a way of adding super¬ 
softness to that already billowy soft dress. It reminds 
one of a light, airy cloud being overshadowed by one of 
slightly varying hue, letting the lights and shadows 
through here and there. You are positively the loveliest 
of God's creation in that ensemble. 

“Dan has just come up, I heard him; let me bring him 
in to see you. He ... " 

“No, no, please don’t, Lucy, I do not want him. . . 
I . . . " 

Too late, Daniel was at the open door with letters for 
them, one a special delivery for Jo. Another addressed 
to him, but written jointly to him and Jo from Robert, 
which he had opened, but was waiting for her to read 
with him. 



206 


Lean and Lank 


He stopped short. Never had he dreamed human could 
look as heavenly as did Jo. The beautiful curls, that he 
had admired and loved since a little boy, were in wild 
confusion about her sweet, white face and pink ears, they 
glistened and glittered as much as the trimmings on her 
gown; the large eyes were as bright and twinkled like 
stars against a fringe of long, black, curling lashes; she 
was altogether lovely. He could only stand and stare. 
After a little he spoke rather hesitatingly, as he held up 
the letters for inspection; “Jo, I will keep these until 
you are ready to come out here to me.” Placing the other 
mail on a chair just inside the door he turned on his 
heels and walked slowly away. 

Jo hurried to get the mail; nothing thrilled her like 
getting letters, especially “specials.” Daniel sat com¬ 
posedly beside her as she read the special delivery from 
her father and mother in answer to a night letter and 
telegram she and Daniel had sent them the day and after¬ 
noon he had “found her,” telling them of the happenings 
and begging that they come to be with them. The mother 
said she could come for a day or two, possibly, but as 
they were all coming home so soon she had better stay 
there and get the home in readiness for the wedding. 
“I’ll have to tell a secret so you will know why I can’t 
come: the house is torn up from front to back and has 
been for two months, to have it new as a surprise for 
you when you get home from the cruise; now an entirely 
new thought it brings.” 

“0, I am so glad, I am so sorry!” Jo inconsistently 
complained. “I am getting to be a real baby I couldn’t 
help shedding a few tears of joy when Alston and every 
one were so amazingly good and sweet to me and now of 
disappointment because I want mother and daddy so 
much, Dan, while I am—we are—so happy. Dan, please 
leave me for a little while. I will be all right in a few 
minutes, then I will call you.” Instead of leaving her, he 
took her in his arms, but her tears had vanished,—in¬ 
stead of crying she looked up into Daniel’s face and 
sweetly, smilingly, said, “I don’t believe I will ever cry 



Lean and Lank 


207 


again except for joy, dear Dan/’ and Daniel had never 
loved her as he did at that moment. “God grant you 
shall never have cause to cry save for joy, my Jo. 

“Come, I want to take you to the shipyards, it is ex¬ 
ceedingly interesting out there. I will get your heavy 
coat and hat, where are they? Can Lucy get them for 
me?” 

“My spring coat is on the chair just inside that door, 
I do not know exactly where my heavy wrap is, I will 
have to look for it. Do you think I will need it in a 
closed car ?” 

“Yes, I think so, unless you had on a warmer dress. 
It is growing much cooler since the little blow and shower 
this morning and I suspect we’ll be out late.” Daniel 
loved her in the coat with the big fur collar; her eyes 
peeping above it was delightfully fascinating to him, kept 
him in a whirl of agreeable thoughts; kept him quiet so 
she had to do all the talking; he so loved that, too, for 
then frequently she would place her hand on his arm for 
emphasis and he could feel the love tokens in the pressure 
of her hand, see them flash from her ring, for she seldom 
wore a glove unless she was driving. 

“Dan, why didn’t you tell me my nose was shiny and 
needed powder?” she said as she looked in the mirror 
after he had helped her in the car and they were gliding 
slowly away. 

“I thought you knew powder would rub off on woolen 
cloth”; he solemnly rejoined. She turned crimson as she 
furtively glanced at his sleeve and lapel, the movement 
filled him with equisite delight and satisfaction. Jo was 
ideal—perfect. 

“And you would have let me gone right on amongst 
strangers, even before your father, without telling me.” 

“Why not, haven’t they as much right to endure such 
a calamity as I ? Besides if it had affected or impressed 
them as forcibly as it did me—” 

And the merry, contented laugh of the winner was 
a “thing for the birds to hear.” It produced an irresisti¬ 
ble pout of her lips as she severely said: 



208 


Lean and Lank 


“Finish up, sir, do not keep me in suspense.” Where¬ 
upon he stopped the car,—and more fresh powder was 
needed. 

As the car again moved slowly ahead she read aloud 
Robert’s letter. It was indeed admirably worded,— 
worthy, in every way, the man who penned it. “We must 
keep this always, Dan, it is lovely—so like dear Bob,” 
she folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope and 
dropped it in her purse. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

“Christmas in my own home, with my father and my 
sweetheart—nothing more I can ask—nothing more could 
be added. It makes me shiver and shake to contrast this 
with a year ago: a stranger in a strange land, sleeping 
the sleep of the dead—dead drunk,” reflected Daniel as 
he sat before the fire upon a divan with Jo between him 
and his father. 

Mr. Foster, Daniel and Jo had made the home a bower 
of Christmas cheer and beauty. They were resting from 
their labors, sitting before a bright blazing fire, sipping 
hot tea with lemon, eating cheese straws. 

Daniel had never worked harder, never realized less 
that he had worked. He had never been as content as 
now. In dream-like state he thought, not so much of the 
present Christmas, but of others to follow—maybe with 
little stockings to be filled. His brain was so full of 
turbulent thoughts dashing hard, wild and high, he was 
fearful lest they penetrate his brain and ruin this hour, 
—possibly every hour yet to come. He got up, shook him¬ 
self and taking his characteristic favorite pose,—back to 
the fire, his left hand thrust deep in his pocket—dallying 
with his watch charm with the right, he began very 
sedately: “Twas the night before Christmas when all 
through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even 
a mouse”—stopping abruptly, turning on his heels, he 
gave a low, musical whistle. Looking at the laden tree, 




Lean and Lank 


209 


he shook his head, striking a mock tragic pose, he con¬ 
tinued, “Glorious time of great too much, time and 
talent most elaborately squandered. ,, He resumed his 
seat, placed an arm around Jo. Thus they sat waiting 
for their friends, enjoying the work of their hands, while 
the radio sweetly dispensed, “Silent Night, Holy Night,” 
by Schumann-Heink. 

Daniel and Jo had spent several hours placing lights 
of rainbow hue in thick, graceful lines over a growing 
Christmas tree—a comparatively tall, shapely cedar in 
the sideyard. It was conspicuously beautiful from the 
street and the approach to the house. It was beautiful 
when finished and one among the first outdoor living 
Christmas trees seen in those parts. It attracted many 
eyes in its direction and elicited much favorable com¬ 
ment. 

They had also planted a large Christmas tree before 
the double windows of the living room, which looked out 
upon the street. The shades were raised so the tree, with 
its many bright, vari-colored lights, laden with every 
regalia necessary to make it typical, could be seen from 
the street and add its glow of cheer to heighten the 
gladsome spirit of the hour. The large star in the ex¬ 
treme top was exceptionally attractive with a tiny elec¬ 
tric bulb concealed in the foliage of the tree reflecting 
again and again the reflected, refracted lights on its 
tinseled surface. It was left burning after all other 
lights were switched off; and that, with two long red 
tapers burning—one in each opposite window of the room 
—and the glow of the fire, was the only source of light 
in the front part of the house, as they sat waiting for 
their friends from the Merribird and others. 

As the father looked upon his son, he thought of the 
hanging stocking that never had been for his boy and 
was so overwhelmingly touched he repaired to his room 
so he could give vent to his feelings—to pour out his 
heart in joy and thanksgiving. 

The victrola was again playing, “Silent Night, Holy 
Night,” when friends and those of the Merribird were 



210 


Lean and Lank 


as merry birds as they came tripping in, light snow 
bedecking their head-dresses and wraps. 

Saluting, the men stood at attention, as Alston in mock 
dignity said: “Christmas is here, salute the tree, et 
cetera . . . ” 

“We are dazzled by such glittering glow,”—they ex¬ 
claimed as in one voice, as all the lights were flashed on, 
after the soft, soothing restful, uplifting glow—the real 
spirit Jo intended for the occasion—had been fully seen, 
grasped and appreciated. 

“Turn those lights off again! The effect we got as we 
entered the drive and opened this door with the victrola’s 
'Silent Night/ was splendid, too satisfying to be upset 
just yet by too much light. This, with that outdoor 
Christmas tree is too alluring, too suggestive of the time 
celebrated to destroy our involuntary worship with too 
much glare,” quickly interjected Lucy Farris. Her 
aesthetic nature rebelled against too much show at the 
wrong time. 

“Mrs. Judge” told the story of The First Christmas 
simply, sweetly as if to tiny children. Nothing could 
have appealed to them as forcefully as this did,—es¬ 
pecially to Daniel and his father. It was the first time 
Daniel had ever heard the story told. Never had the dif¬ 
ference between spoken and written language appealed 
to him so much. Then followed the story of Van Dykes' 
“Other Wise Man.” 

The stories being finished, Henry came in to replenish 
the fire, while the faint, familiar rattle of a furnace be¬ 
ing replenished was heard below. Sufficient expected 
noises to completely destroy the quiet approach of Jack 
Frost closely followed by Santa Claus, until they came 
fully in view with the paraphernalia—the complete trap¬ 
pings, of those two well-known characters. 

Absolute dumfounded surprise reigned supreme as each 
looked at the other trying to find the guilty party, while 
Jack and Santa with quiet dignity took their places. 
Finally all eyes rested upon Jo and Mr. Foster. Jo blushed 
her guilt—her maroon frock with soft cream lace collar 



Lean and Lank 


211 


and cuffs and long, black, narrow ribbon tie, enhanced the 
glow of her radiant face. 

The distribution of the conglomeration of gifts began. 
Such an array of articles can not easily be imagined. The 
Wool worth - Silver - Kress varieties perfectly — unmis¬ 
takably—depicted a hobby or some peculiar, outstand¬ 
ing characteristic of the recipient. Santa had been well 
versed in his speils and being adept in the art of merry¬ 
making, wit and humor, produced unconstrained sounds 
of merry laughter as each gift was presented, and was 
carefully opened and displayed by the recipient. 

The gifts worth-while—which bespoke the deep, ap¬ 
preciative feeling each had for the other were given with 
appropriate words and produced real joy; provoked 
thoughts which would last through time. The entire en¬ 
semble of that night was never forgotten by those 
present. 

The identity of the apparitions which had remained 
secret, was then satisfactorily settled. 

Mr. Ben Lewis, and Mr. F. M. Warren (the bachelor 
friend of Mr. Foster) evolved into gentlemen, perfectly 
dressed in evening attire—all ready for the serving of 
refreshments. 

The twelve-year-old twin daughters of Mr. Lewis were 
the next and “last numbers on the program.” They came 
airily in, dressed as snow fairies, dragging an immense 
Yule log which they placed upon the hearth by the fire. 
From which they served the first course of Dan and 
Jo's delightful viands. 

And with what satisfying satisfaction Jo had superin¬ 
tended the making of those refreshments—yea, verily, 
had made some of them with her own hands—in “Dan’s 
kitchen,” while that young man helped by getting in the 
way—blocking traffic. “I have to sit or stand where I 
can watch the face of the cook to see by her expression 
whether I am doing right or not,” he complained when 
scolded, as he peeled oranges, stoned cherries, grated 
cocoanut and opened cans. When he had finished his 



212 


Lean and Lank 


last job he was given an “honorable discharge/’ — 
which he did not accept until the head chef walked out 
with him hand in hand; her face, hands and dainty rub¬ 
ber apron covered with flour, sugar, and, she thought, 
fruit juices, “as it is so sticky and hard to get off.” “This 
stuff sure ought to be good, whether it is or not; I’ve 
worked hard and long enough with it,” he smilingly 
complained. 

Saturday night had merged into Sunday morning be¬ 
fore the guests departed. Alston Farris exclaiming, as 
he took his wife’s and mother’s arms and escorted them 
through the outer door and down the steps, (closely fol¬ 
lowed by the other guests), “Behold, the sun in russet 
and gold will soon be peeping at us over that far, distant, 
snow-capped eastern hill, so we must hurry as we bid 
you one and all a happy good night.” 

Jo followed in snow-white wrap which completely hid 
every suggestion of red, save the cheeks which were like 
American beauty roses as they moved up and down, 
round and round, behind the high, soft fur collar. Daniel, 
in wolf-like brown, walking slightly behind her, as they 
went to the car, seemed to swallow her up completely— 
she was entirely hidden from the father’s view as he 
stood on the steps where he bade them good night. 

The father went in, closed the door, and sat by the fire 
to await Daniel. The last good nights were said, doors 
were closed and locked—all lights out except the star and 
Christmas tapers burning in windows, which gave Christ¬ 
mas greetings to all passers-by as the snow was slowly 
falling, laying a soft mantle over the whole earth. 

They all met again, on the morrow in the church, the 
anthem, “Christmas awake, greet this blessed morn, 
whereupon the Savior of the world was born,” broke the 
stillness. 

Every heart leaped with joy as the whole congregation 
stood and sang: “Glory to God in the highest, glory, 
glory, glory, glory, glory be to God on high”—for the 
“poor whom you have with you alway,” had not been 
forgotten and all were glad. 



Lean and Lank 


213 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

“Ship ahoy,” greeted Daniel and Mr. Foster as they 
came down to the landing the morning they were to set 
sail, followed by Henry with their luggage. 

With all on board—everything in readiness, the Merri- 
bird turned her head slowly southward and began her 
homeward flight. 

The days of the journey home were busy ones, but full 
rounds of jubilees. Every one was superbly, superla¬ 
tively happy. All were deeply interested in the same 
things, hence; harmony prevailed. Naturally much time 
and discussion were given to planning Jo’s and Daniel’s 
wedding. Naturally enough, too, their thoughts reverted 
to those diabolical scavengers of society—the town gos¬ 
sips, assassins of character and soul; those who had been 
instrumental in sending Daniel away a nameless wan¬ 
derer—a B. D. Retsof: bringing untold anguish, pain, 
bitter tears, broken hearts, disappointments, loneliness, 
sorrow,—to many. 

If one could have heard the last audible sounds of the 
yachting party as the still, awe-inspiring, mysterious 
hush of darkness crept over the earth; when gloaming 
deepened into night and nature had spread her brooding 
wings over all the creatures of men bidding them rest,— 
cease from wearisome toil and pain; if one could have 
heard their evening prayers expressed in song as night 
winged his westward way—they would have known that 
they had risen far above all sordidness; above all such 
character - destroying, brain - warping activities. They 
would have known that all hatred, all strife, all enmities 
were forgiven and would be forgotten as far and as soon 
as possible: that pity and compassion had supplanted the 
natural feelings of ill-will and rancoring hate. 

In the stillness of a star twinkling night came the soft 
cadences of their evening prayer, 



214 


Lean and Lank 


Softly now the light of day 
Fades upon our sight away; 

Free from care, from labors free, 

Lord, we would commune with Thee. 

Thou, whose all-pervading eye 
Nought escapes, without, within, 

Pardon each infirmity, 

Open fault, and secret sin. 

Soon from us the light of day 
Shall forever pass away; 

Then, from sin and sorrow free, 

Take us, Lord, to dwell with Thee. 

The minor strains of Gottschalk were never more im¬ 
pressively beautiful. 

When the heart is full—full of the emotions it wishes 
to express, the voice needs no prop, no crutch, no me¬ 
chanical contrivance of any kind to make the pitch, the 
sound, the rhythm harmoniously beautiful. 

No music is so sweet, so soul-inspiring, so wonderfully 
perfect as the human voice when the heart is making the 
melodies. 

If other ears were fortunate enough to catch the vibra¬ 
tions of those voices (though untrained from a master’s 
view) as they floated out as a benediction over those 
Southern waters that calm, still night, they will vibrate 
with resonant heart throbs for days. If it be true that 
“sound never passes away,” the songs sung those nights 
will resound through the ages. Every note was roundly, 
mellowly masterfully sung; the intonation almost perfect 
—the kind of melody that lifts one bodily to the very 
throne of God. 

Daniel became the idol of all on board. He was the 
ambassador of good cheer, laughter and song; the handy¬ 
man, the adviser, the counselor,—certainly the perfect 
lover. 

He kept them entertained; their interests and curiosi¬ 
ties whetted to the highest, keenest point with his nar- 



Lean and Lank 


215 


rations of his visit to his mother’s people, for whom he 
had aroused much respect—and a desire to know. His 
recapitulations of Bettie Jo and Jim were the “Punch 
and Judy” of their leisure hours. 

Daniel seemed verily to have been born again on his 
twenty-seventh birthday. His true nature and disposi¬ 
tion had never been known,—had never been free to ex¬ 
press themselves until now. 

Daniel Foster, Sr., had grown twenty years younger in 
the society of his boy. He certainly would have been 
exonerated by the world for the very exalted opinion he 
had of Daniel. 

Neither Judge Farris nor Mr. Foster had reached the 
age in life when new friends were not welcome; where a 
new confidential friendship was depressing — boring; 
where a quiet corner, in an easy chair and favorite smokes 
were preferred and gave all they desired, all that was 
necessary for their continued stay upon earth; all the in¬ 
centives needed for another day—sufficient reminiscences 
for another night. 

Each seemed as buoyant, as exhilarated as the young¬ 
est and entered into every phase of each day’s programs 
with the fervent earnestness and keen relish of the best. 

All these new friendships were more than satisfactorily 
welcomed; however, those two seemed mutually attracted 
the one to the other and better satisfied when near the 
other. Many a quiet personal chat they had. All in- 
stinctly let “water seek its level” and did not disturb the 
placid waters. They rejoiced rather in the lovely 
panoramas they made as the massive head of Mr. Foster, 
with its thick snow-white hair, which gave a sweet, sub¬ 
lime majesty to the happy, contented, cheerful light upon 
the face often inclined so as to look into the clear eyes 
of the Judge to hear what he said, whose black-grey hair 
bore pleasing contrast as it leaned forward to catch the 
beam of the father’s eye and the low, deep cadence of his 
voice. Not infrequently were arms across each other’s 
shoulders. 

Once when in quiet conversation with Judge Farris, Mr. 



216 


Lean and Lank 


Foster said: “Judge, can you imagine what a joy, what 
inexpressible happiness, what absolute satisfying comfort 
it is to me to have him with me? To see his mother shin¬ 
ing in his eyes, to hear her laughter in his, to observe 
and trace her many adorable ways and expressions? 
Never doubt again, if you ever have, that like begets like 
or the likeness thereof; for he is very like her in face, 
form and fashion. It is wonderful, infinite to me— 
simply God.” 

Did the Judge feel a pang of jealous pain as he lis¬ 
tened, hesitating before making reply? No. He was 
too big, too great for that,—the word is not chronicled 
that can define his feelings. He replied: 

“To a small degree I think I can. I think I do ap¬ 
preciate your feelings —do understand. Daniel was my 
son—our son, the formative period, the plastic age of his 
life. His youth and young manhood were spent in our 
home. We did our best by him. He was made of the 
best material with which to work and I am—we are— 
proud with you of the results. You have suffered—have 
been tried by the fires of hell unquenched for twenty- 
four years. I rejoice with you and am glad your years of 
suffering and grief are at an end. You deserve all the 
happiness you are now enjoying. May you ever enjoy it 
is my prayer. Wife and I grieved, mourned and were 
saddened by what we though was his untimely, unjust 
end.” 

“Only the Almighty can reward you, sir, and your good 
wife for your greatness, for what you have so magnani¬ 
mously, so magnificently done; and He will. I can, in 
my human weakness, only feebly express, with inadequate 
words, my everlasting gratitude and thanks. I will ever 
be at your command to serve you and yours in any capac¬ 
ity you may choose. Again I thank and bless you.” 

“The pleasure of knowing and doing for him was all 
ours, sir, I assure you.” 

Never was friendship and respect more steely bonded 
than here as for a long moment they stood in tight hand 
clasp, looking straight into the other's eyes. 



Lean and Lank 


217 


Scores of cards—informal invitations to the wedding 
had been written—were all sealed and addressed, ready 
to be mailed upon landing: one to each member of 
Daniel’s and Jo’s mother’s and father’s families and 
friends; also the Judge’s, Robert’s, Alston and Lucy Far¬ 
ris’ most intimate friends. 

It had been a tremendous undertaking; requiring time, 
patience, and at times, the help of the entire assemblage. 

The morning of the last day of the voyage, Daniel was 
recapitulating some incidents of his wanderings. He 
finished by saying, “You and I are going over the same 
route, Jo—the same I traveled, as soon as practical after 
we are married. The scenes—some of the occasions I 
know were—must have been, wonderful; but I was so 
totally unfit to see, to say nothing of appreciating them, 
I want you to enjoy them with me. We will leave just 
as soon as we get home from the visit to father’s relatives 
in Williamsburg. Father and I were to have spent the 
Christmas holidays with them as you know; but you see 
how things turned out,” he beamed—“As we have never 
seen any of them I am glad they are all coming to our 
wedding. We will have to charter a hotel, for everyone 
that I feel we must have, for everyone who just must 
come. Let’s see our ‘must haves’ ran up to three score 
last night, besides the scores of ‘want to haves.’ My! 
can’t a fellow’s list grow? I hope we haven’t left out 
a soul.” 

“0, Dan, my heart is so full of pure love for every¬ 
body—so full of happiness in everything, I don’t see how 
I can stand it,” Jo whispered as Daniel was helping her 
get her belongings together as home shores were reached. 

Upon leaving the yacht, as Jo and Daniel clasped a 
hand each of Alston Farris and his wife, Jo said, “No 
matter what the future may bring—never will I cease to 
glorify ‘My Father Who Art in Heaven,’ for this most 
glorious, eleven full months of happiness you have given 
me, Alston and Lucy. Never will I cease to thank you 
for the exquisite pleasures it has afforded me,” and kiss- 



218 


Lean and Lank 


ing a cheek of each she hurriedly left the yacht, hand in 
hand with Dan. 

Wires had preceded them. Hosts of friends with cars 
were waiting to take the unprecedented happy assemblage 
to the Foster and Allison homes—there to remain until 
after the wedding. 

As Daniel looked out upon familiar scenes and faces; 
when he saw Robert—Lank's big form, coming toward 
them holding an arm each of Mrs. Bishop and Ruth—he 
was sick with joy. 

“Where are the children?" he whispered in Lank's ear 
when he could speak. 

“In the car with the nurse—the dark green one about 
twenty yards up. Come, want me to go with you?” 

“Yes.” And the two, with Jo walking between them, a 
hand clinging firmly to an arm of each, went to the car. 
Daniel turned his back to the crowd as he took baby 
Dan Foster in his arms, after kissing the rosy cheeks of 
Lydia Lu. 


CHAPTER XXXV 

“Lucy, you and Mrs. Farris have done so much for me. 
Too much for me to have the audacity to even think of 
you other than as retired joy and happiness makers, so 
far as I am concerned. But do you know, you will just 
have to come to my rescue again, help me arrange to get 
the crowd in the church. You and Alston, Judge and 
Mrs. Farris, Mr. Foster, Robert Bishop, Mother, Dad, 
Mrs. Bishop, Ruth, ‘Uncle Robert,' Mr. Lewis,—every¬ 
one mentioned have got to come in first and stand nearest 
Dan and me. How can it be arranged ? 

“The only way I see, is for our wedding to be at home, 
for the public would not allow such as I want and would 
have, if conventional dignity would permit. Why, I 
would have that darling cherub of a toddler, Dan-Foster 
Bishop, as ring bearer, if he fell down every other step 
or stumbled across the pulpit for a flower, while the 




Lean and Lank 


219 


ceremony was being performed—if he saw one he wanted. 

“One of you with mathematical turn and precision of 
mind, must make a formula by which this situation can 
be effected.” 

Mr. Allison laughed, “Jo Byrne, I think it will take an 
Archemides or a James Sidis, some one who works in 
circles or fourth dimensions to solve your problem.” 

“True, Mr. Allison,” spoke Lucy Farris, “however it 
gives us food for thought. We can get some geometrical 
figure to solve or help solve Jo's problem. I know how 
she feels. No couple extant has had the experiences she 
and Dan have had—they have just cause to love devotedly 
and be loved by more people than the majority of mortals 
are granted. ‘They are lovely, hence, to be loved.' I 
am no geometrician, but Dan and Alston are, and I am 
going to see if they can't ‘draw a figure and then prove 
it.' As Jo says, it must of necessity be unlike other con¬ 
ventional weddings,—it must be different, the circum¬ 
stances are so manifoldly diverse from others. The first 
thing in the morning you two, Dan and Al, are going to 
get busy. I’ll see what can be done, Jo.” 

“Thank you dear, dear Lucy,” as she turned, Dan 
caught her arm and marched her into the living room. 

Jo felt another heavy load of weighty responsibility 
lifted. “Lucy will solve the riddle, Dan, I saw I could 
not ‘depend upon you,' ” laughed Jo. 

“No, dear, just so I get you—I care not how they enter 
or leave the church.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

“Listen, Jo, did you hear that clatter? That's the 
second or third time I have thought I heard a rapping 
at the back door. I’ll see what it is.” 

“Wait, Dan, let me go, too.” 

“I rather you wouldn't, dear, besides it is cold out 
here.” 

In a few minutes he came back with a large porch 




220 


Lean and Lank 


chair and to Jo's astonished wonder he was followed by 
a big, stout, old negro woman. She had on a long, black, 
“plush" coat which she began to unbutton as she came 
into the warm room displaying a brown wool dress of 
large checks, the front entirely covered by a large white 
apron. Her stockings were silk, of a dark, pinkish, drab 
color; her feet looked comfortable in “old lady comforts," 
neatly laced to the top. Beneath her hat of green velvet, 
with sweeping black plumes, strayed grey locks of hair. 
The large, capable hands (made rough by much hard 
work and labors of love for both black and white) were 
incased in grayish green fabric gloves. She held tena¬ 
ciously to a tan purse, which, in size and shape resembled 
a spend-the-night bag. 

Daniel, placed the chair for her. As she sat down he 
said: “Now tell your story—Callie, I believe you said was 
your name." 

“Yes, sir, Callie Boyd." 

And Callie began her story. Before she had proceeded 
far, Daniel said in low, cloudy voice: “Wait a few min¬ 
utes, Aunt Callie." He left, returning in a few minutes 
with his father, Judge Farris, Mrs. Farris, Alston, Mr. 
and Mrs. Allison. Making known the visitor as all were 
seated, he said, “Aunt Callie, will you begin again, please. 
All these people are interested and want to hear what you 
have to say." 

She beamed a kind, motherly smile upon them all, fold¬ 
ing her hands one above the other and without the least 
embarrassment or constraint began. 

“Well, as I was sayin’, my daughter-in-law has been 
readin’ lots in the paper erbout somethin' which peared 
to me I was 'specially intrusted in. I didn't say nuthin' 
to nobody; but I puts on my apron and hat and goes to 
see Miss Eva Wilson—a white lady I wurks for some¬ 
times. I asked her if she had read anything in the 
papers about a 'Mr. Foster, a way off somers, who was 
in a wreck of some kind long years ago and who had lost 
a little boy, and so on.' She said, 'Why, yes, Callie, the 
papers have been full of it. Why do you ask?' I said 



Lean and Lank 


221 


well, it's jest a pretty, strange, sad story to me; and 
would she read it all over to me;—my daughter-in-law 
read it, but niggars don't read as understandable and 
natchul lack as white folks. Or tell me the story if you 
haven’t time to read it, I said, I will nus the baby while 
you sews and talks, if you wants me to. She said she 
had as soon read it as tell it. But some of the papers 
was gone, so whut she couldn’t read, she tole. 

“Well, I said to myself (as she read) I know I knows 
somethin’ don’t nobody else knows—somethin’ whut aint 
been writ in the papers and Ise gwine strait to that boy 
and tell him. So I borrowed five dollars from Miss Eva 
(I had a little money of my own saved up) promisin’ to 
wurk the five out when I gits back, so I hit the fus train 
out and jus got here. 

“Everybody said that wus the right place yonder cross 
the street, but a cullard gemmun said you all wus over 
here, so I earned over. I knowed somebody wus here, 
cause the place wus so lit up, but it tuck me a mon- 
sterous long time to git er answer to my knocks.” 

She unfolded and folded her hands—merely exchanged 
places with them, as she did her feet which were slightly 
crossed. 

“I don’t ’members erzactly jus how many years ergo it 
wus, but it’s been er long time. It wus when my son Bud 
went to Toe-le-do to live. I stayed home with Hessie, 
my gal, as she had two little chillun. Well, Bud tuck 
sick in Toe-le-do and sont word fer us to fetch him home, 
he thout to die. Well, ’twus when we wus bringin’ him 
from dat place whar we wus to meet him dat dis all 
happened. We wus goin’ down a long stretch er straight, 
white, sand, road; I saw a funny lookin’ object in the 
road, it looked sorter like a dog or large rabbit, ’cept 
hiturd git up and fall down. I said to Hessie, 'Hess dats 
a chile.’ She said ‘no ’taint no chile, hits a stump with 
a cat or sumpthin a settin on it.’ 

“My niece who was drivin’ the double horse wagin 
we had rented from a white man, didn’t like for nobody 



222 


Lean and Lank 


to talk to him to distract his 'tention when he wus 
drivin' peart horses, so I didn't say nuthin’ to him; but 
when we got near so I could see, sho nuf it wus a chile— 
a little white boy. I made my niece stop and I got out. 
I sot on the side of the ditch and tuck the little feller in 
my lap. His clothes was all tore, but you could tell they 
wus nice. And dirty! his hair wus full of leaves an' 
sand, and stuck out in hard straight tags whar the blood 
had dried; an’ his face an hans wus smeared wid blood 
and dirt mixt wid tears whar it looked lack he had been 
a cryin’. He looked pale an' sick lack an' it was mos 
dark. I jes knowed somebody had druv along thar at a 
fas rate and didn't see him and knocked the little feller 
down. He was so cold, he was most stiff—an it wusn’t 
so powerful cold nuther. I didn’t see how he could be so 
cold, if he had been thar a short while. He wus that 
cold he couldn't walk, was the reson he wus stumblin’ 
erlong an' afallin’ down. I tuck him in the wagin an’ 
gin him some warm milk an' crackers whut we had fixed, 
at a cullard pusson’s house about a hour before, for 
Hessie’s baby Booker T. He et lack he wus most starved. 
When I wiped the dirt offern his face and hans—he wus 
that puttie! I wropped the piece of a old soft blanket 
eround him whut I had been a settin’ on, an he cuddled 
rite down in my arms an lap, an when he got warm he 
went fast asleep. 

“My niece said, ‘you better put dat white chile down 
and let him erlone, somebody done stole dat chile an put 
him dar jest to see whut nigger ud be fool enough to pick 
him up, den dey'll git yer fer 'nappin or stealin' or some¬ 
thin’ of the kine.' I said, ‘Honey, day’ll jest hafter git 
me, fer I aint er gwine ter let no chile, white or black, 
be cole an hongry an not git him warm an feed him if I 
kin, an I aint ergwine to leave him in these woods by his 
little self no how. 

“Well, that chile slept slap on 'till we got to my sis¬ 
ter’s house erbout eight o'clock. When we driv up an 
got out, dat chile wus as bright and spry as eny of um. 

“They all talked so much erbout whut they done to 



Lean and Lank 


223 


niggers in dat part of the country, I got kinder skeered; 
still I hilt out that nobody would bother me whin I tole 
um how ’twus an* showed um the cuts an’ scratches on 
his little face, arms and laigs; showed um his tore-up 
clothes, whut eny body could looked at an tell they wus 
fine to begin with. Still they kept on talkin’. Arter a 
while my sister sayed, ‘I tell you Callie, I washes for a 
ole lady an her son an three chillun, who thay calls 
‘‘Granny Dunkin an Mister Jim.” I got to take the 
clothes home in the mawnin’ an’ you kin go with me and 
take the chile.’ 

“Up to dat time I aint ast his name. I tuck him on my 
lap an said, honey whats yore name? an’ he said as plain 
as day ‘Daniel Benson Foster.’ We all looked at each 
other, none of us knowed any Fosters in dat whole coun¬ 
try. So then they all knowed somebody had stole him 
for ransom and he had runned away from them. It did 
look fishy an’ I wus beginnin’ to get skeered too. Ma- 
Jane, my sister, sayed: ‘You come erlong, we will take 
Danul—I w T ill put you out way belo the house an’ when 
we gits to the corner whar Granny Dunkin’ lives, I’ll let 
him out and tell him to go the way you went an stop an 
play with the chillun in that yard till you comes back, an’ 
you keep on gwine strait down the street. We will 
ketch you at the corner by the little grocer store whar I 
stops an sells aigs an’ chickens. 

“ ‘I alius goes in the back way wid de clothes an’ I’ll 
take pertickler pains to see if he’s in the yard playin’ 
with Mr. Jim’s chillun; if he is, he will be all right, for 
Granny Dunkin aint er gwine to see him suffer.’ 

“Well, we did jest that erway, an hit turned out jest 
as MaJane sayed it wood. She saw the little feller sev¬ 
eral times arter dat in the yard playin’ with Granny’s 
gran-chillun an he wus that happy she sayed. 

“As the story was writ up all right except this part, 
an’ sayin’ the boy didn’t know how he got to Tennessee, 
I thought I would tell you erbout this; cause hit wus er- 
bout the same time all this happened that wus writ an’ 
that wus the same name the chile give me, an he wus 



224 


Lean and Lank 


shore lost.” She gave an emphatic nod of her head, a 
twist to her mouth which sealed her part of the story as 
unquestionably true, so far as she was concerned. 

Aunt Callie was through, the moment was tense. Alston 
Farris was to the rescue again,— 

“Well, for an all round good sport; an exceedingly 
thoughtful, conscientious, sympathetic soul; for quick 
thought, judgment and executive ability; for an A. No. 1 
good doctor and nurse, I recommend the olive branch for 
Aunt Callie. She certainly can go head.” 

Everything was perfectly clear now, no mystery of the 
twenty-three years that hadn’t been completely, thorough¬ 
ly explained and accounted for. 

Before Aunt Callie had gotten half through her story, 
Jo had left her place at Dan’s side and sat on a stool at 
her feet crying with her face buried on that good soul’s 
large, ample lap. Aunt Callie did not hesitate, did not 
even pause in her talk as the change was made, she simply 
put her feet flat on the floor so as to make the lap more 
comfortable for Jo’s head, put a hand on her head and 
stroked her hair occasionally, as she talked. 

Only once did Aunt Callie interrupt her story; then she 
stopped abruptly and asked—“which one is Daniel Fos¬ 
ter?” Daniel made no reply but got to his feet at once, 
came over and sat on the floor at her feet very near Jo. 
“I thought so,” she smiled as she looked pleasedly on. 
“You two mus be sweethearts, ain’t you?” Dan raised 
his head saying, “Yes, Aunt Callie, we are sweethearts. 
We are to be married Wednesday night, at the church 
down on the next corner and we want you to be sure and 
be there.” 

So many touching, heavenly pictures Jo and Dan had 
made the past fortnight, one could hardly choose the most 
appealing; but the one with the old black mammy, with 
kindly beaming face, a hand on each bowed head as she 
finished her story, certainly could have ranked among 
the first. 

She had spoken to an attentive house—a pin could have 
easily been heard fall at any time during the narrative. 



Lean and Lank 


225 


No other part of the drama had been told more precise¬ 
ly, more connectedly, more earnestly than as told by the 
old negress in typical Southern negro dialect and when 
she had finished all she had come to say, she made ready 
to depart. 

“I believes I has tole this correct—my membry has not 
failed me, I don’t believes. Is I rite?” 

“You certainly are, Aunt Callie,” and Daniel rose to 
his feet—helped Jo to hers—“I knew there was a good, 
kind, black mammy mixed up in my childhood someway, 
and you are she—I am glad to know you; henceforth, I 
shall endeavor to be as kind to you as you were to me.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Danny.” 

“Father, I would give much could Mr. Lewis have 
heard the story as told tonight. I told him of the large, 
black negress, but he could place none—thought I was 
mistaken, as the nurse with us on the train was a little 
brown woman, and was killed,” he said. 

“Yes, son, your nurse was Rosa Lamar, a small brown 
woman. Callie, you have made clear some things that 
have puzzled me—puzzled us all—very much. I thank 
you. I am eternally indebted to you for the information 
you have given and on this night of all times.” 

As she started for the door, both father and son fol¬ 
lowed her, “You are not going to leave us now, Callie. 
Where are you going?” 

“To a frien’s house erbout er half or er mile out.” 

The two led the way to the back hall. Mr. Foster said, 
“Callie, I have much to say to you. I can not tell you 
now—can not make you understand what all this means 
to me, to us. I will not try now, I simply want to say 
that I want you to go to Virginia with me and live with 
us ,—Jo, Dan and me. I have a nice, warm, comfortable 
house for you and you shall never want for a thing nor 
will you have to work except as you like. Daniel and Jo 
will be married Wednesday night, we will be going home 
in about ten days. Soon after we get home they are 



226 


Lean and Lank 


going off on a long trip to be gone about a year before 
they begin their home making and settle down to work. 
Can you and will you go with us ?” 

“What part of Virginie? I come from Virginie.” 

“Eastern part. Newport News?” 

“I don’t know that place, I come from Willumsbug.” 

“Well, Williamsburg is not far from Newport. I have 
two sisters living in Williamsburg and maybe you will 
run across some of your old friends sometime—who 
knows? Will you go?” A smile of contented pleasure, 
overspread her black, shining face as a lifelong desire 
was soon to be gratified. 

“Yes, sir, I thinks I kin. I has nuthin’ to hole me 
here now, all the gran-chillun’s grown and Ise gettin’ 
old,—will soon be sixty-six, ’sides, Ise alius wanted to 
go back to Virginie.” 

“Thank you, Callie, you shall go. You shall have your 
wants, your every wish gratified, from now on. 

“Unless you have to go back to your home I will mail 
your white lady friend, Mrs. Wilson, a check for the 
five dollars lent you, writing a note of explanation and 
thanks.” 

“Thank you, sir, but I will have ter go back for my 
close, an’ to tell um goodbye, an whar Ise gwine.” 

“Very well, when can you get back?” 

“When ever you says so.” 

“I tell you, Aunt Callie, come back in time for our 
w r edding, Wednesday night and be ready to go to Vir¬ 
ginia when we are ready to go ten days later.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

“Are you walking?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, wait a moment, Jo and I will take you home,” 
putting a bill into her hand, he went for Jo and his top¬ 
coat. 

The father supplemented the bill by one of the same 
denomination, as he bade her good night. 



Lean and Lank 


227 


“Aunt Callie, I am sorry I cried all over your pretty 
new, white apron and mussed it up, give it to me, I 
will ...” 

“That’s all right, honey. Ise a good washer and ironer 
and it won’t take me no time to git hit strait ergin. Mr. 
Danny and his popper has been so good to me, Ise glad 
you cried on hit. I jest wishes you chillun all sorts of 
good luck when you gits married. I has two bran new 
buck eyes Ise gwine ter fetch you, when I comes back, 
for a weddin’ present—they will shore bring you good 
luck.” 

“Thank you, Aunt Callie, that is kind and thoughtful 
of you; we thank you; but if we have much better luck 
than we’ve had lately, we won’t want to go to heaven— 
won’t be any use.” 

“Why, honey, don’t say that,” she said as she leaned 
far over to put her hand on his arm, “Don’t say that, 
Mr. Danny.” 

“Why not, Aunt Callie, I could certainly be no happier 
in heaven than I am here.” 

“0, yes, you could, honey, yes, you could, you don’t 
know.” 

“Well, it’s all the same to me and if I can’t know any 
difference what’s the use?” laughed Dan as he looked into 
Jo’s eyes. 

“You will see honey, you will see,” and she crawled out 
backwards, bidding her new found friends a hearty, 
friendly good night with voluminous thanks. 

In plaintive, croon-like cadence, Aunt Callie began 
singing softly to herself “Carry me back to old Vir- 
ginny,” as she stood, arms akimbo watching the car un¬ 
til the tail light was completely lost in the darkness; then 
she turned, shuffled up the irregular walk, sat upon the 
top step when the singing suddenly ceased. Laying back 
her apron at right angles across her lap, she reached her 
hand deep down into the generous pocket of her dress, 
pulled out a large white handkerchief of bandanna style, 
opened and spread it out upon her lap. Opening her 
purse she took out the bills given her by Mr. Foster and 



228 


Lean and Lank 


Daniel, folded them in the smallest squares possible, then 
squeezing them into as small a roll as her vise-like fist 
could squeeze them, she tied them carefully in the corner 
of her handkerchief and put the handkerchief back in 
her pocket. Turning up her skirt, she took a large safety 
pin from her bosom and pinned the handkerchief se¬ 
curely in her pocket. Lowering her skirt, she smoothed 
her dress, turned her apron back over her dress, smooth¬ 
ing it out with both hands. She resumed her song re¬ 
peating “Dar whar dis good old darky’s heart has longed 
to go.” As she clambered to her feet she gave her apron 
a final “smoothe” and after a gentle tap and call, she 
opened the door, entered with dignity and with greater 
dignity told of the happenings of the evening. Her social 
standing rising materially with each declaration, reached 
the top notch when she concluded with, “I will spend the 
rest of my days with my rich white folks whar I wont 
have ter wurk no more only as I pleases.” With lips 
proudly set, head held high, with firm proud tread and 
exalted air, she made ready for bed. 

“Well, Dan, Aunt Callie has completely upset our wed¬ 
ding plans,” began Jo as they left the old negress. “I 
think she should lead the way of all others—and if it 
would not shock convention,—completely annihilate it— 
she should march right up in front, stand right by the 
preacher in front of me, so I could think all the time as 
I looked at her, what she probably will be thinking; ‘if 
it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t be here now, this 
wedding would never have been.’ She is a good, kind, 
generous soul, her heart is as white as her skin is black; 
she’s the whitest black person I know—I love her. 0, 
it makes me shiver and shake, my teeth chatter, to think 
what would have happened to you,—to that poor, precious 
baby boy, who had been in the woods all day and part of 
a night, hurt, bleeding, sick and hungry all by himself. 
It’s the sweetest, saddest thing I ever heard. Poor lit¬ 
tle fellow! I can see him now all covered with blood 



Lean and Lank 


229 


and mud, stumbling along in the dark too cold and hungry 
to walk. I can’t endure to think of it.” 

Nothing was so horrible to Jo as being left entirely 
alone—and in the dark! In the woods—a baby boy!— 
it was too much! 

Daniel grew uneasy about Jo. He stopped the car, 
took her in his arms and in vain tried to quiet her. She 
had been in a nervous environ for sometime, he knew, 
and this last sad, touching disclosure of the only mystery 
that hadn’t been cleared, was too much for her already 
highly strung nerves. 

“Jo, if you do not control your feelings, if you do 
not quiet yourself, I will be forced to take you in yonder 
house and ’phone for a doctor and your parents.—Lis¬ 
ten, dear, I am that little boy who was lost (though no 
one would believe it to look at this six-footer, would 
they)?” he laughed. “I am here with you; am ab¬ 
solutely well, without a scratch or bruise of any kind. I 
am not cold or hungry. I am supremely happy as I hold 
you to my heart, my beautiful, my sweet, sweetheart. 

“Listen, dear, you and I are never to allow any one to 
be cold, hungry or suffer in anyway if we can help it—, 
out of respect, love and honor for those who have kept 
us from such, if for no other reason. For two years now 
—though I have not been idle—far from it—yet, in a 
sense, I have done but little, merely trying to drown my¬ 
self in forgetfulness; I have been as a member of the 
Do-When-and-as-You-Can contingent; but when we get 
back from touring the world, I will resume my former 
line of work and we can give all I make for the care of 
those who need it,—the worthy poor.” 

He watched her as she tried to check her tears, tried 
to recover her self-control. He felt her quivering, inert, 
body growing quieter, the paroxisms of sobbing grow 
fainter and fainter. He brushed the curls back from her 
forehead and eyes, wiped her face with a soft handker¬ 
chief, as he continued: 

“Your sympathies are very precious to my soul, dear 
heart, I love you for them; but you must stop crying now, 



230 


Lean and Lank 


or you will be sick,—and, Jo, I can’t stand for you to be 
sick.” 

The storm subsided, she dried her eyes. As she looked 
into his face he smiled. She burst out anew; but it 
was an April shower soon over, and she said: “I am all 
right now, Dan, we can go home.” 

He straightened and buttoned her coat—she was cold 
—turned up the collar, drew her close to his side, pulled 
on his gloves, took the wheel and drove almost an hour 
before bringing her home—where he left her at once, 
demanding that she go straight to her room and to bed 
for the full night’s sleep her brain and nerves so needed. 
She promised, and did. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

“Wake up, wake up you drowsy sleeper,” called Lucy 
Farris at Jo’s room door the next morning. “Don’t you 
know it’s nearly ten o’clock?” 

“Nearly ten! Gracious no, you must be joking, Lucy.” 

“Well, look! your own perfectly good timepiece regis¬ 
ters 9:55. 

“Pull up that chair, please, Lucy. I don’t know when 
I have slept so good, for so long. Nearly eleven hours of 
sleep, and dead to the world when you came in,—no tell¬ 
ing how long I would have continued my siesta—I am a 
regular Rip Van.” 

“It is neither nice nor conventional, I know, to disturb 
one’s slumbers—and Daniel raised a ‘rough house’ when I 
said I was coming over. He said you were to ring him 
when you were ready for callers. If he knew I waked 
you up, no telling what he would say or do. But this 
wedding must take place now, it has gone too far not 
to—Dan or no Dan, sleep or no sleep, and I’ve brought 
a plan to submit. Alston and I are invited out for the 
week-end and this was my best—my only chance of see¬ 
ing you. 




Lean and Lank 


231 


“0, Lucy, I wish you had been here last night. Did 
Dan tell you about Aunt Callie? ,, 

“No, but Mother Farris did at breakfast. Dan was 
up and out horse-back riding and didn't get back in time 
to breakfast with us. I heard him whistling Annie 
Laurie—he thought to himself (for Daniel is very 
thoughtful) but you could have heard him easily had 
you not been so far away in the ‘Land of Dreams.’ He 
is so delighted to be back. Delighted to have Dulce to 
ride with Rex galloping at her heels, barking and pranc¬ 
ing his joy at having him back. I don’t know which 
loves Dan best, Dulce or Rex. Father Farris will have to 
deed them to him. They recognized him the moment 
they saw him, and showed their feelings, expressed their 
joy at having him back as knowingly, as touchingly as 
dog and horse ever did—ever can.” 

“Miss Jo Byrne, your mother says, do you want break¬ 
fast in your room?” 

“Is it ready now, Jane?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“If it’s not too much trouble, yes, please. I have com¬ 
pany. You will join me, Lucy?” 

“Thank you—no. After breakfasting with Mother and 
Father Farris, you know not. If I had come from my 
home, it would be very acceptable,” she laughed. 

“Bring service for one then, Jane.” 

“Birds—Jane? Who has been hunting?” 

“Yes, ma’am, birds. Mr. Daniel Foster sent them 
over.” 

“Bless his heart. Now I know you will join me, Lucy. 
I could never eat two whole birds. Jane, bring another 
cup and more coffee if this urn is not full, or bring the 
grounds and we can ‘perk’ it right here. Send Dude 
up to make a fire, it’s warm in here, but I do so love to 
see the blaze.” 

“Now for the plan, Lucy, did you figure on an impor¬ 
tant place for Aunt Callie?” 

“No, she was an unknown quantity when these plans 



232 


Lean and Lank 


were formulated, but I have a spectacular place for her, 
however—she will be the black dot on the rivet!” 

“The what? You haven’t seen Aunt Callie, she will 
never make a dot on anything—she is taller than you, and 
weighs two hundred, if she weighs a pound,” laughed Jo. 

“She will work well here though as a dot. I have 
planned it this way. Here is the outline. The Bridal 
Choral comes in first, of course, in rainbow colors, form¬ 
ing a bow facing the others who—in standing this way, 
make a perfect fan. 

“You and Dan, with that darling Lydia Lu right here 
will be the hand-painted picture on the face of the fan— 
see? No geometry, trigonometry or calculus about it. 
Aunt Callie sits just here, back and a little to the left 
of the preachers, where she can see everything; so you 
see, Aunt Callie will be the dot on the rivet and as long 
as the dot holds the fan is good—otherwise not. So you 
see she will be the most important factor in the wedding, 
after all,” laughed Lucy Farris. 

“How do you like the idea—the arrangement, Jo?” 

“Simply could not be improved upon, Lucy, you are 
a wizard and an angel! You don’t know what a burden 
is off my brain and heart and how doubly I thank and 
love you, if my love for you can possibly be doubled as 
immense as it is,” and pushing aside the tea cart, she 
threw her arms around her neck and kissed Lucy Farris 
upon each cheek. 

“The rehearsal of the chorus was perfect last night. 
Those boys and girls have splendid voices, they blend 
perfectly. They are a congenial bunch, too, which adds 
zest and flavor to it all. 

“I may not see you any more until Sunday night, 
as Alston and I are going over this evening to see Lois 
and Ben; if you think of anything that’s been omitted or 
you and Dan want added or changed, let us know at re¬ 
hearsal Tuesday night. 

“Now you better hurry and get dressed for I heard Dan 
leave the garage. I knew he couldn’t stand it much 



Lean and Lank 


233 


longer. Yes, there he is—I’ll go out the back to avoid a 
difficulty. Tra, la.” But Jo heard her pleasant repartee 
as she called back to Dan, “Go back, sir, she has not 
rung for you and you know it.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

Before a bright, blazing fire in the living room at The 
Camp, with a large round table, littered with papers, glue 
pots, pins, et cetera, between them, sat Jo and Dan, 
busily cutting out and arranging in order in a book 
elaborate write-ups of their wedding and affairs leading 
up to it from their home papers, embellished with ela¬ 
borations from state papers. Jo stopping to read aloud 
a paragraph now and then and commenting, concluding 
one, with: “Lucy, too, said it was a most beautiful wed¬ 
ding. The most appealing one she had ever witnessed or 
taken part in — and they are legion. I am so glad it 
was all it should have been, Dan, and I am glad it’s over. 
It was perfect, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, my precious wife, it was. But this book is not 
perfect, will never be perfect until your picture, as a 
bride is put right here. I do so want it, Jo; you, too, 
will regret not having it made. Let’s have no regrets, 
my darling Jo. Won’t you go the first thing in the 
morning and attend to this very necessary duty?” Jo 
frowned. “I know how you abhor such, but this is for 
our future reference, our autobiographies, Jo. Won’t 
you for me? Grant the first request I make of my 
bride?” 

“I do hate it, but if you will have yours made, too, and 
put right here, I will.” 

“You little torment, you know how crude that will 
make it, our keepsake. My likeness will be entirely out 
of place in a bride’s book. 1 am the groom, don’t you 
know, I can—” 

“Just the same it has got to go in, the groom belongs 
to the bride, doesn’t he? and this is the bride’s book.” 





234 


Lean and Lank 


“Shall I phone Lucy to meet us? Where and what 
time ?” 

“No, let’s have it done without anyone’s ‘knowledge 
or consent’—surprise them—especially as I said so 
vehemently ‘I would not.’ ” 

“All right, just the thing.” 

“Now as that is all settled and we have done as much 
as we can tonight on the book, tell me, Dan, all about 
yourself after you left me that awful night. You prom¬ 
ised you know. You have told me parts disconnectedly 
—now I want all connectedly.” 

“Yes, dear Jo, I promised. 

“It’s over a dark, gloomy, way I would carry you; black, 
ugly pictures I would show you. I went to the lowest 
depths; drank the bitter dregs to the last drop, leaving 
the cup bone dry. Only a grinning, hideous skeleton, 
with clanking bones would you see, if the halo of your 
blessed love did not overshadow all, blotting out the 
hideousness. I can show you the place—the spot—where 
I endured the most hellish, anguishing hell; when in 
failing to receive Bob’s letter, I could see you in that 
other fellow’s arms, see this curly head upon his breast; 
these soft, white, shapely, dimpled arms around his neck; 
his lips clinging to yours. You can never know the 
anguish of soul, the despair, the utter loneliness I ex¬ 
perienced. Thank God such terror is over forever for 
me! 

“I can give only a synopsis, and try to show you some 
inspiring views and scenes letting you see and enjoy for 
yourself when we traverse practically the same route, 
but, I, in a very different frame of mind, under very 
different conditions.” 

“I am sorry it had to be, but I want to know every¬ 
thing. I suffered, too, Dan.—Oh, the ugly, unkind, un¬ 
true remarks people made, such horrible insinuations— 
arid how they did stare and criticize. I said nothing. I 
simply closed my ears and eyes and went dumbly, blind¬ 
ly on. I thought—I knew —that it mattered not where 



Lean and Lank 


235 


you were or who you were, that you had loved me—I 
knew you could never forget me any more than I could 
you and somehow those thoughts helped the hurt.” 
Humbly, gratefully, he kissed her hand, drew her closer. 

“The most horrible thing was the uncertainty, the sus¬ 
pense— 

“Begin at the beginning, dear”—and sitting in the 
close clasp of her husband’s arms, Jo listened to his story 
of anguish, suffering, pain, deprivations and wander¬ 
ings. 

“When I left you that night I went straight to my 
room. It was about 10:30. I pondered earnestly, seri¬ 
ously what was best to do. I was crazy, stark mad. I 
knew I could not live in the same locality with you in the 
light of what you had heard, of what I had been 
awakened to. I knew I could not see you with another 
man—I would have lost my reason—would not have been 
responsible for anything my suffering, my anguish of 
soul, the unspeakable disappointment would have forced 
upon me. I concluded as I was an unknown quantity, it 
would be best to make good the allegation and continue 
the roll in correct style. I arranged my business as best 
I could, on such short notice. I, at least, fixed it so no 
one would suffer by my leaving. I left statements, bank 
stocks, life insurance, etc., all fixed so the Judge and 
Robert would have no difficulty in arranging them law¬ 
fully as my beneficiaries. That arrangement cut like a 
knife—tore my heart, for I wanted you to have my all, 
especially my life insurance and car, for you seemed to 
love ‘our car’ as you called it; but I knew that would 
never do, would only be adding fuel to fire. I had 
asked the Judge and Robert to take care of you for me 
and I knew they would. I wrote the notes for you, Judge 
and Mrs. Farris and left. I had gotten to the hall door. 
On more sober thought I decided I would talk with the 
Judge. I came back and waked him. I could not en¬ 
dure that he or Mrs. Farris should think me ungrateful 
because of what they had done for me, especially under 
the then existing circumstances.” 



236 


Lean and Lank 


“The hardest thing I ever did up to that time was bear¬ 
ing my soul to him. 

“Grief, anger, revenge, hate; every known passion, 
fought for ascendency in my brain, I was almost per¬ 
suaded to do as Job’s wife tried to induce him to do 
‘curse God and die’ for I could not understand why the 
All-Wise, the Omnipotent, having a son of his own, 
could inflict such torture, raise such unsurmountable bar¬ 
riers in the path of a hapless, unsuspecting man. 

“Had it been human weaknesses, material obstacles to 
have overcome, I would have ‘rolled up my sleeves,’ ‘grit¬ 
ted my teeth,’ and ‘bearded the lion in his den,’ I would 
have gloried in matching wits with any man, letting the 
victor have the spoils. Had I lost, I would have been 
‘game,’ as the fellows say, I would have gone on and made 
the best of it. But what was I that I could fight against 
fate,—Omnipotence? I wanted you; I had worked, lived 
and prayed for you and I had failed in that—my all— 
and by reason of circumstances over which I, no human, 
had control; could change or rectify one iota; so the best 
thing for me to do was to get as far away from every 
semblance of the past as completely as speedily as pos¬ 
sible. I went to my office, fixed some important papers 
necessary for explanations. I worked ’till late night— 
or early morning. And, do you know, I don’t remember 
just how I got to Robert. My one anxiety was to make 
sure I would not lose you entirely, keep some tangible 
hold on you until you married—then, of course—! 

“Well, I simply wandered around like a blind dog, little 
knowing, caring less where I went or what happened to 
me. 

“I could not sleep; I was growing exceedingly rest¬ 
less and irritable. What took me to New Orleans, I 
know not. When I got off the train and put on my hat, 
I discovered an exchange; some one had my hat. Then I 
noticed an exchange in traveling bags. I was looking 
round to see how, who and why, when I saw another fel¬ 
low had made a similar discovery, someone had his hat 
and bag. We recognized our bags at once, he started for 



Lean and Lank 


237 


me, I for him. Our hats were identical except mine was 
a half size larger, both bags were alligator, but of slight¬ 
ly different size and shape. We apologized, made the 
correction and turned and walked away in opposite direc¬ 
tions. 

.“That afternoon I got in the elevator at the hotel, my 
friend of the morning was on it. He looked at me, my hat, 
clothes and shoes. I did him likewise. We were satis¬ 
fied. 

“That night as I sat at dinner, who should be ushered 
in, but my friend again. He was seated at the same table 
with me, before he recognized his friend of exchanged 
personal belongings. He smiled pleasantly, then deliber¬ 
ately rose to his feet, put his hand in his pocket, drew out 
a bill folder, opened it, took out his card and handed it 
to me, and with the dignified demeanor of one celebrity 
meeting another—he said: ‘This seems to be inevitable. 
Being human, it is but natural that you should want to 
know who your companion for the rest of your natural 
life is destined to be/ 

“The card bore J. W. Mayo in plain script. I had no 
cards, I simply extended my hand, as he sat down, 
pronounced B. D. Retsof with remarkable alacrity con¬ 
sidering the newness. 

“Never shall I forget his whimsical expression as he 
looked straight in my eye as I pronounced B. D. Retsof, 
as if to say, ‘too thin, son, too thin.’ The entire pro¬ 
cedure—remarks and all—were so natural, yet so ab¬ 
solutely foreign to anything I had expected, I was im¬ 
pelled to ‘sit up and take notice/ as he would say. I was 
impressed by his ridiculous dignity and looked upon him 
as something I needed, a kind of antidote. 

“I noticed from his card he represented a reliable firm 
of New York and New Orleans. He was interesting—so 
entirely different from any one I had known. He kept 
me amused, as well as entertained, the thing I, then,.so 
much needed. He had a wonderful, a comprehensive 
supply of slang and used it like a past master. His ex¬ 
pressions were deliberate, clever, cheery, positive and 



238 


Lean and Lank 


forceful. He had a head full, of common sense, a broad 
streak of wit and some humor,—he was a fair sample 
of a Will Rogers, Abe Martin, H. I. Phillips, Thomas 
Dargan (universally known as Tad) mixture. I really 
believe he kept my head above water, for, at times, I 
laughed involuntarily and tried to remember his expres¬ 
sion of voice, face and attitude and the language he used, 
which, of course, helped. Most of his wise-cracks and 
come-backs must have been original for they rolled out 
spontaneously; most of them I had never heard before. 
He simply talked in volumes of slang. 

“He was much interested in his work—consequently, 
he interested me in it. I finally decided to go with him 
to South America as I had nothing else to do, nowhere 
else to go. So we left for Rio de Janerio, to 'pull off a 
deal/ He seemed to think I was his inferiority complex. 
We ‘pulled off the stunt with remarkable speed and skill/ 
he said. He was thrilled, delighted, and called for more. 
Luck stayed with us. But I began to grow restless; 
things were growing familiar, common place, easy to 
handle; so I began thinking too much again for my good, 
and being thoroughly disgusted with the morals of the 
populace, I left. 

“When we are in New Orleans or New York, we must 
find Mayo—you will enjoy his light—but witty expres¬ 
sions; his easy, graceful manner. He is a Chesterfield/’ 

“Is he married?” 

“No, he is unmarried—a man of the world. What one 
would term a woman hater, but, ‘believe me/ I know what 
it will mean to him when he does meet his affinity. He 
will know how to treat her. He will be on the square. 

“We took steamer for Brazil. The voyage was ex¬ 
ceedingly pleasant, so far as the weather and accommoda¬ 
tions were concerned; but there were two young couples 
aboard, one just married; he was taking her to his home 
in Havana, Cuba; the other couple had a baby boy about 
two years old, (they were related some way, possibly 
brother and sister-in-law) and they were going to her 
home for the first time sifice they were married, I 




Lean and Lank 


239 


learned. They were ideal couples, both as to behavior 
and appearance. They were Creoles or some amalgama¬ 
tion of Spanish type and were the principal attraction 
of the other passengers, and crew—especially the boy. 
He was a handsome fellow, bright as a silver dollar and 
every inch a boy. 

“I stood it as long as I could. It is impossible to ex¬ 
press to you my feelings, the sensations of my extreme 
loneliness and longings for what I knew could never be 
for me. 

“The boy and I became fast ‘buddies.’ He and I spent 
most of the time, they were aboard, in my berth; in that 
way I managed to live somehow. 

“Brazil is a magnificent country. The same can be 
said of it, that the Queen of Sheba said of Solomon’s wis¬ 
dom, riches and glory—‘the half has never yet been told.’ 
The climate is delightful in Rio de Janerio. A gigantic 
pile of rocks in conical shape—called the Sugar Loaf, on 
the left; another huge mass of rock, the Pico, on the 
right, greet you as you steam into the harbor. The bay 
you enter is said to be large enough for the anchorage of 
all the navies of the world. I do not doubt it. Immense 
palms as large as our trees, with twining vines, gorgeous 
flowers everywhere to shade and protect you from the 
sun. I was told the new Rio is quite different from the 
Rio of a decade ago,—it is certainly up to date now, in 
every particular. Mayo and I were there in the interest 
of coffee and, believe me, we saw enough coffee to in¬ 
terest us—thousands and thousands of sacks piled high. 

“Sanatos and Sao Paulo are about on a parity. Sanatos 
has broad, clean streets with low white houses, giving 
pleasing views. Everyone seemed busy 'and prosperous. 

“While in Brazil the long, white envelope from Robert 
reached me regularly—and with my time occupied all 
day and part of the night,—my mind occupied parts of 
the time with coffee deals, business papers, letters et 
cetera, I did very well in Sao Paulo until everything got 
down to such clock-like regularity and dittoness, I got 



240 


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to where I had more time than I needed for retrospec¬ 
tion—so I checked out. 

“You will like that part of Brazil—most all the Eastern 
part, but my, when I left Mayo going west to Colombia! 
Such travel and over such barren wastes! The people, 
a mixture of white and Indian, are of the lowest type— 
ignorant and savage. Yet, in Bogota, the public build¬ 
ings are of architectural pleasing beauty, especially the 
library, national observatory and museum of natural his¬ 
tory. With so many newspapers (I never did learn the 
exact number, more than a score though) I could not un¬ 
derstand such dense ignorance. You and I won’t go that 
route,—though I would love to send each of our men a 
genuine Panama hat and the women a pen set with 
emeralds for they are wonderful stones (from Bogota), 
but we will detour. I can’t let you go over such desolate 
wastes with such savage ignorance. We will take an¬ 
other route from Sanatos, go through the Panama Canal 
thence to Hawaii—I did not go through the canal. I 
want to. 

“I took an awkward route, I doubled back, going to 
Havana, Cuba, for there I was expecting the long white 
envelope from Robert, just a breath from you, my 
darling, and I was not disappointed. 

“I went from there to the Azores, but did not tarry 
long. Left for London, England, where I was expecting 
another long white envelope addressed by Robert. It did 
not come. Jo, only the All-Wise knows what I endured 
then. I used to hoot at the idea of brain storms, but 
they are very real, I assure you. There were times when 
I was a raving maniac, when I would have given my life, 
my soul, for one touch of your hand. You would not let 
me kiss you, even when I had the right, and when I 
thought of another man claiming your lips, with you in 
his arms—! Jo, no language has ever been printed or 
uttered that can convey an idea of the utter despair, the 
anguishing hell I experienced—and it would sicken your 
soul to know the beastly depths to which I descended for 



Lean and Lank 


241 


only one twelve hours cessation from maddening thoughts 
which burned and seared my brain almost to distraction. 

“I knew it would take months of extremes of heat, cold, 
deprivation of every nature and kind to keep me going 
after I had waited another month, in vain, for a word 
from Robert, so I plunged into the heart of Asia. 

“I passed through, oh, I don’t even remember the 
places, but Netherlands; parts of Germany, spending 
about twenty-four hours in Berlin; northern parts of 
Poland, Ukraine, through the Southern peninsula of Rus¬ 
sia across the Caspian Sea, where travel began to be more 
and more difficult. Tibet was miserably cold and de¬ 
solate. Pillars of white salt, standing sentinel over small 
basins of water, frozen by the wind made the bleak deso¬ 
lation bleaker still and was enough to make one long for 
annihilation. The valley of the Yangtze was refreshing 
compared to the cold, barren nothingness of Tibet. 

‘‘Shanghai, China, was a marvel to me and so different 
from anything I had ever seen or expected to see I nearly 
forgot myself ‘for a season.’ One, who has not seen it, 
can not form an adequate idea of such an absolutely op¬ 
posite condition existing in one and the same place. The 
Chinese Shanghai is crowded with herds of Chinese.in 
dirt, squalor and rags. The English Shanghai is in¬ 
habited by civilization from all over the world, neat and 
clean, living in pretty homes, carrying on their work in 
up-to-date shops and houses. The streets are broad and 
clean. Such a conglomeration of varieties in everything 
W as—well, interesting, to say the least of it, as well as 
self-obliterating for a time. 

“I went from Shanghai to Tokyo, and for every varie¬ 
ty of transportation, things both old and new, every con¬ 
ceivable vehicle thing, since the beginning of time, it 
seemed to me, to every modern convenience of modern 
times contended for supremacy: bicycles, dog-carts, 
push-carts, rickshaws, human beasts of burden., street 
cars, automobiles; all, in one grand parade, pushing and 
jostling for the right of way. 



242 


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“Hotels, of English style of fashion, for the high—the 
rich; cheap inns, for the low—the poor. 

“Be you Buddist, Catholic, Jew, or Gentile, places of 
worship are there for you. 

“Every style and nature of dress. 

“I happened to be there at ‘clean up’ season. Every¬ 
thing was washed and sunned under police supervision. 
Tokyo, the Great Cosmopolitan it is called, and cosmopoli¬ 
tan it is. 

“I dropped due south then to the Philippines—stopping 
at Manila. The inertia of the people, hence; filth—and 
as I do not care specially for vice, rice, fish and filth, I 
did not tarry long on these islands. 

“Keeping my southernly direction; passing through 
and by the Dutch East Indies I came to Australia, keep¬ 
ing close to the east coast stopping at Brisbane, Sydney, 
Melbourne; on the west coast at Perth. Then across the 
Bay of Bengal to Madras, India. 

“At Brisbane, I saw my first lyre bird. 

“Out at one of the ‘runs’ or sheep ranches, near 
Sydney, I saw more sheep than I thought possible to 
crowd together in one place—ants and rabbits without 
number. Sydney is a beautiful city, its university is 
large and a splendid, showy building. 

“Australia is a strange, wonderful country, but it did 
not appeal to me in the least. One thing that recom¬ 
mended it, that I noticed, was the seemingly equal dis¬ 
tribution of wealth, more so than anywhere I had yet 
been, none seemed extremely poor, none extremely 
wealthy. 

“I went over land to Perth; then, across the North 
Indian Ocean, the Bay of Bengal to Madras, India. Med¬ 
leys of song, language, religion, races, dialects, industries, 
—medleys in everything, greet you in India, as in Tokyo. 

“I happened to be in India during the time of the 
Southwest monsoon. I shall ever remember what a south¬ 
west monsoon is. I went to Delphi for the sole purpose 
of seeing the Taj Mahal. It is certainly a most perfect 
poem in marble. Never has architectural perfection 



Lean and Lank 


243 


claimed its own more than this piece of workmanship, in 
my opinion. They said it was most beautiful in a bril¬ 
liant India moonlight. I stayed long enough to see it by 
moonlight—nothing of like nature could be more lovely. 

“En route to the Taj Mahal I stopped over at Jaipur to 
see the Hall of Winds. It is, as Sir Edwin Arnold called 
it ‘a vision of daring and dainty loveliness'—the straight, 
broad streets of Jaipur were very fascinating to me. 

“But, dear Jo, after seeing that dainty loveliness of the 
Hall of Winds and the Taj Mahal, that exquisite tribute 
of man's love for a woman, my whole being became so 
disquieted again I was almost frantic, I cursed the man 
who said 'it was better to have loved and lost than never 
to have loved at all,'—what a lie, I had proved it. 

“I made haste to leave Jaipur, went direct to Calcutta 
thence across Burma. I would have enjoyed that prov¬ 
ince, I think—the people were impressively easy going 
and good natured, but I was drunk with longing—drunk 
with a desire for home, for you,—I was miserable. I 
gave myself up to misery not knowing or caring where 
I went. I boarded a steamer, went where it went—then 
boarded another, and another; finally landed after a very 
circuitous route, at Honolulu. I think we must have 
stopped at every port of Oceania. 

“Honolulu is lovely—oh, you will love the balmy, sway¬ 
ing, musical atmosphere of those islands. 

“Dear Jo, once as I sat overlooking a most luxuriant 
valley, bordered with cocoanut trees and luxuriant foli¬ 
age, dreaming, dreaming, the longing to see you, to be 
with you, to hear you call my name, overcame me, became 
master of my being. I sat and pondered, pondered, 
pondered, until the sun was lost behind the volcanic hills, 
shutting off all vision, except objects quite near. I 
realized day had gone, night had come. I got up, 
stretched my stiffened limbs, went to my room, still 
dreaming. That day at lunch I had found a newspaper, 
someone had left—it was from the U. S. with a poem of 
Edgar Guest's marked. I read the poem, applied it to 
myself, became more dissatisfied and more miserable, but 



244 


Lean and Lank 


I took it as an omen of good luck coming at the time 
it did. I let it decide for me and let the outgoing steamer 
determine the route and left for ’Frisco that night. We 
were not quite a week making the voyage. 

“Yes, you will love Honolulu. I want to take you to 
the very spot where your sweet face peered at me from 
every hill top, every flower, every blade of grass and rice 
stalk; beckoning me on: haunting my sleepless hours; 
yet, so soothingly sweet as hour after hour passed into 
oblivion, I, oblivious of their passing—you luring me on, 
daring me to forget. 

“So I came, I found you, miracle of miracles! How 
thankful, how humbly grateful I am that I listened to the 
voice of the siren that brought me to you.”—A long 
dreamy silence . . . 

“It is growing late, my darling, you must get to sleep 
or you will not feel fresh and rested for the sitting to¬ 
morrow, and that must be attended to.” 

“Dan, did you keep a diary while you were away?” 

“Indeed, no. I did not care to remember from one 
hour to the next, to say nothing of from day to day.” 

“Have you no data, nothing by which a record could 
be made?” 

“I have some time tables, steamer routes, hotel litera¬ 
ture, possibly—things like that.” 

“Well, we must get them up and together and with 
what you have told me the collaboration will be interest¬ 
ing ; also be a good guide for our route.” 

“We will make some very decided changes in our 
itinerary. There are some places I can not have you go 
—one is Tibet—it is too bleak and barren; it would make 
you sick, so much seeming destitution of everything liva¬ 
ble. There are other places I missed that we must visit. 
We must spend some time in Switzerland, Germany, 
France, Holland, Turkey, and Sunny Italy,—Mussolini’s 
Italy, where they have mixed music, song and laughter 
with work; converting it into a beehive of satisfied, 
happy, ambitious people, I understand. In my opinion, 
Mussolini — if indeed it be Mussolini — has struck the 



Lean and Lank 


245 


right chord for harmony—for making a happy, pros¬ 
perous, well satisfied, gifted, cultured people,—that of 
mixing — in right proportions — work, music, laughter 
and song. Any people or nation could not fail to thrive, 
become great and mighty with such treatment! any home 
could do the same. Let's adopt that program for our 
home—what say you? We have already had the work, 
come now let's have the laughter and song." 





































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